


Bad Omens Around the Eyes

by ikindaneedahero



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody Lives, BAMF Pansy Parkinson, Blindness, Disabled Character, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Pansy Parkinson, Healer Hermione Granger, Healer Pansy Parkinson, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, Luna Lovegood is a Good Friend, M/M, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Professor Neville Longbottom, Protective Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Until it Doesn't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26585749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikindaneedahero/pseuds/ikindaneedahero
Summary: With little left to lose, a battered Pansy Parkinson shoved a wedge in Voldemort's plans to have a terrified and uncertain Draco Malfoy take down Dumbledore. What happened next was a story of redemption, self sacrifice and healing.Or... a universe where Pansy Parkinson had a moment of Gryffindor self-sacrifice and paved the way for Draco Malfoy's redemption. canon until OOTP. Pansy/Neville, Dramione.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize profusely for everyone who was hoping for an update in every story I already have going. I am alive, safe, healthy. Thank you to everyone who's messaged, live has been hectic, but I'm back in the writing game.
> 
> This idea came to me and wouldn't leave. I'm already done with it, so don't fear. Further updates on this and my outstanding fics to come :)

**September 1, 1996**

There was a difference between knowing that everyone hated her and internalizing that everyone hated her. Daphne wasn’t even present to make her feel somewhat loved and fawned over in that way her acquaintances often did. Much smarter than her own mother and father, Daphne’s parents had fled with their two girls the moment that they were summoned by the Dark Lord. She hadn’t even written Pansy or left her a clue about where they'd gone.

In an emotionally unwieldy train of thought that she could barely control, she wondered what it would be like to have someone, anyone, in her life who cared about her wellbeing. Now that was a concept.

Thankfully, her clearly fake slumber allowed her some peace on the Hogwarts Express. No one cared enough to even poke her awake or call her on her poor acting.

She’d begged off her first prefects meeting after running into the Hufflepuff bint that was picked for Head Girl and pretending to be embarrassed about starting her menses and having cramps. After the girl gave her an awfully uncomfortable pep talk and bar of chocolate, she could look forward to three hours of quiet before her life erupted into awfulness once more. It was easy to pretend she was asleep, not that she could actually find rest. Not anymore.

The stylish muggle sunglasses that were now a part of her physical armour gave her the chance to peek out and observe her classmates while they thought her asleep. Not that there was much to see, unless you were intrigued by the hyperactive fawning of ugly girls looking to get cuffed by the Sacred 28 and boys whose fathers had clearly informed them of who to impress.

Despite it being obvious pandering, she could tell that Flint and Higgs were soaking up the attention from the likes of Millicent Bulstrode and Laili Burke. Her years of practiced, feigned apathy were all that kept her from sneering as Higgs patted his lap and Burke hopped on like she was riding a horse. Class was at a premium these days, seemingly even in the poshest of social circles. She hoped someone at least remembered to pull the blinds; it wouldn’t do for Ravenclaws to think they had the social edge on the snakes.

“Oh, Draco!” a breathy Tracey Davis exclaimed as the gaunt, skeletal looking sixth year walked into the compartment. Pansy could tell he looked like shit even through her dark glasses.

Was the half-blood girl informed of what was going on or just looking to glob onto Draco the moment Pansy was seemingly out of commission?

Either way, Pansy didn’t care. Not anymore. Not when caring for Draco meant what it did. What it cost.

Thankfully, he’d left her alone when she asked. He took her at her word the moment she’d given it which stung bitterly. Was there anyone, witch or wizard, who didn’t hope to have someone fight when you say leave me alone?

In the deep recesses of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever even cared about her. Honestly, she wondered if he cared about anyone but himself. If it was that easy for him to toss her aside now… all signs pointed to Draco never caring. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. She didn’t need Draco, she didn’t need anyone. Not when they’d show their true colours eventually.

Her father, her mother, Perseus, Daphne, now Draco- they’d all made it very clear that it was better to never feel than to feel without reciprocation. Her reputation was an armour that felt comfortable to rest in. It felt like the only expectation she could live up to. Pug-nosed? Stupid bitch? She could live up to that. She could give the people what they want.

Now, more than ever, she had no reason to try. She had no one who’d even be looking for her friendship or high marks. She was utterly alone with her pain and fear.

Pansy Parkinson had never played with a worse hand of cards than what she’d been dealt, but she’d be just fine. She always was. And if she wasn’t? There was no one who cared enough to notice.

xxxxxxxxx

“Miss Parkinson, this is a sixth-year Transfiguration lesson, not a beach in Ibiza. Sunglasses off,” Professor McGonagall chirped in her no nonsense tone that seemed even colder when directed at Pansy.

Fuck. Of all the scenarios that had raced through her sleep-deprived mind, how hadn’t she expected this?

“Now.”

Pansy swallowed and did her best to put on figurative ear muffs. She’d spent her entire life knowing that her semi-decent looks were her only currency- no one needed to tell her what she looked like now. She might hex them to death if they tried.

Reaching her unbandaged hand up, she removed her bug-eyed Valentinos. She wished, not for the first time, that she was as unfeeling as she projected.

Voices sounded, both shocked gasps and tittering laughter, but she focused on creating a kill-list instead of crying. Vengeance was much more practical than tears.

“Silence!” Professor McGonagall ordered, taking ten points from both Slytherin and Ravenclaw when her classmates didn’t listen.

Pansy never looked up, never made a sound, not until her classes had blessedly come to an end hours later and she could finally be alone.

Well, as alone as one could be with Moaning Myrtle singing and twirling like she was a third year who’d been asked to Hogsmeade for the first time and not a long-dead ghost. Still, she was better company than anyone Pansy had come across today.

“Oh! A potion… why are you boys and girls alwaaays making potions in my bathroom?” Myrtle sniffed, diving over the door into the disgusting stall Pansy was currently sat in.

“For privacy,” Pansy replied, voice hoarse. “No one comes here.”

“Oh, but you’re right! Why does no one want to come? I am perfectly fine company!” Myrtle whimpered.

“Says who?” Pansy muttered, cursing when she fumbled and dropped the entire lavender plant into the now bubbling navy potion instead of the three leaves it called for.

She took a deep breath, praying to whatever power was listening that the plant would just enhance the potion instead of ruining it. There was a reason she’d dropped potions, okay? Not everyone had the ability to follow directions perfectly.

Her O in Charms and Es in Transfiguration and History of Magic, however, meant nothing to anyone. Even Millicent’s parents took her on a trip to Paris when she’d received an E in Care of Magical Creatures, for Merlin’s sake.

So, all things considered, it took her only one year at Hogwarts to fall into the same rut that eons of pureblood women had. Why bother working hard when your parents didn’t reward you for your marks and your future husband wouldn’t allow you to work?

Now, though, as she was staring down a bubbling, ominous-looking potion, wondering if she was going to poison herself... she was caught between wishing she’d worked harder in potions or that it’d at least kill her quickly.

“That looks a little funny,” Myrtle said in her baby voice, lips scrunch unattractively.

“Shut up!” Pansy snapped back, voice croaking over the words that had once been second nature. The mildewy bathroom was quiet after that, only the sounds of Pansy’s injured gasps as she tapped a now-burnt finger on the vial every few moments to see if the pain potion was finally cool. Patience was never high on the list of lessons she or her brother received growing up at Parkinson Place.

“Go on, try it!” Myrtle squealed after about thirty minutes. Pansy’s stomach was growling for sustenance, but she wasn’t going to the Great Hall again. Not after word had inevitably gotten out after two classes with her looking like a monster.

She could handle the stares, but direct confrontation? No. Right now, she felt thinner than her mother’s finest lace and she knew she was no longer anywhere near as beautiful. The slightest provocation would have her ripped into tiny shreds without any way to be put back together.

Against her better judgement, Pansy tried the now-cooled deep blue potion and promptly threw it all up. Of course she knew it was supposed to be light blue, but she was hopeful that the dark color meant it was more potent. No, unfortunately, it was just ruined and she was still in pain. She took her wand in her left hand and sloppily vanished the cauldron and remnants of her failed potion. It couldn’t have been later than half five, but she was exhausted, hurting and hungry. Time for bed.

She reached her right hand up to wipe the tears that’d formed in her eye, only to realize that the heavy bandages covering it made that impossible. What good was she if she couldn’t even use one of her hands?

“Will you be back?” Myrtle asked, floating down to meet Pansy’s eye-level. Even the ghost flinched when she caught sight of the girl’s face.

“I hope not,” Pansy muttered.

She stepped into the hallway after a quick look around. Just as she hoped, everyone was at dinner.

Her panting breaths were loud in her ears as she headed down a set of steps near the very east side of the castle. The two years she’d spent at Hogwarts with her brother left her needing alone time; Perseus reported everything she did and didn’t do to her parents, leaving her bruised and miserable at the end of every holiday. She spent more time in this hidden stairwell than she did in her common room those early years, which was why she was shocked to hear steps sounding from below her.

“Oh, Parkinson!” a trimmer, less goofy looking Neville Longbottom exclaimed. His soft brown hair looked more attractive and groomed now, which was a marked improvement for the lion.

Much to her chagrin, the Gryffindor stopped only two steps below her, leaving him directly in the middle of the staircase and far closer to her person than anyone had the right to be.

“Move it, Longbottom,” Pansy ordered, squinting her left eye as she waited for him to move. She’d tried to glamour her sunglasses into clear glass on the inside over the past few days, but failed. Add that to the fact that her left hand was nowhere near as dexterous as her right one, and she had a concoction that left her very unlikely to pass her classes. Could someone even fail out of Hogwarts?

“Er, sorry,” Neville replied, taking one step back down the stairs rather than moving to the side. “I wanted to… how are you?”

“None of your business,” Pansy spat back with all of the vehemence that was expected of her.

“Sorry, sorry,” the boy repeated, taking another step back. “I’m just… praying for you.”

Pansy couldn’t help the surprise snort she let out at his weird phrase. There was a reason she’d never talked to him, she thought.

“What’s praying?”

Even beneath her sunglasses she could tell the boy turned bright red as he rocked from side to side, his stomach weirdly moving from where it hung over his trousers. Pansy made a bet with herself over whether or not he’d fall backwards down the stairs. She’d definitely be charged with his murder, knowing what she knew about Dumbledore and his merry band of fools’ feelings on Slytherins.

“There’s a guy called God, yeah? Some muggles believe he created the earth… and ask him to grant wishes for them. They call it praying. So… I just hope you’re doing okay.”

“Peachy, Longbottom. I’m just peachy,” Pansy replied, scrounging up the closest iteration of her patented smirk on her face. “Can I go now?”

“What about supper?”

“Not hungry,” Pansy replied, hoping he couldn’t hear the low rumbling of her stomach that wouldn’t go away.

“Sometimes I just don’t want to go to the Great Hall,” Neville admitted quietly as though Pansy wasn’t… Pansy. “I can show you to the kitchens if you want.”

Pansy pretended she knew exactly what he was talking about as she turned his offer down. Just like her own dorm mates, he was fishing for the story of what’d happened. And just like her dorm mates, he wouldn’t get it. No one would.

“I’m set, Longbottom. Not hungry. Are you going to let me through any time soon, or should I set up a bed on the staircase and hope the Bloody Baron doesn’t decide to stop in for a sleepover?”

“So feisty,” the boy murmured to himself, his small grin revealing his jack o’lantern teeth. Ew. “Night Pansy.”

The girl pretended he didn’t call her by her name as though they’d talked before. There were other, far more egregious offenses for her to prosecute right now.

She didn’t reply as he stepped to the side, taking in only a whiff of his earthy, clove-filled scent. He smelled like he spent most of his time out in the greenhouses, if she had to guess. Not that she’d know what Neville Longbottom got up to outside of being hexed silly by her dorm mates and bumbling around after Saint Potter and his minions for any scrap of attention he could find.

Even when she was finally upstairs in the glorious silence of her dorm, she only took her sunglasses off after transfiguring a towel she’d placed in front of her dorm bathroom into a large boulder. Millicent and Tracey spent blessedly little time in their dorm room, but she wasn’t taking any chances when it came to relaxing in the tub. Not when she looked the way she did and her roommates had mouths the size they did.

Later that night, when she had pulled her bed curtains around her and finally charmed them shut after three failed attempts, she closed her eye. As she lay on her back, a heavy weight of guilt and sadness came over her as she realized that Neville Longbottom, a veritable stranger, was the only person to ask how she was doing.

Much like the previous eight nights since her world was knocked off its axis, sleep did not come.

**September 9, 1996**

“Ready?” an unusually tense Draco asked as he held the common room door open.

Pansy nodded, wishing she could do her rounds alone. She’d asked, of course, only to have the bubbly Hufflepuff Head Girl ask if she’d rather be partnered with the sixth year Gryffindor prefects. Draco was the least of all evils when Weasley and Granger were the only other options.

“Are we going to walk in silence?” Draco questioned, his dragonhide leather boots echoing in the silence of the dungeons.

Pansy had always hated the coldness that came with being in the Slytherin dorms. She’d spent many nights huddled under her fur blankets, cursing whoever thought it was a good idea to house a group of growing children under literal freezing water.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Draco sighed.

“I have nothing to say,” Pansy answered honestly.

“Pans… how are you doing? Can I help?”

The girl shook her head minutely. The right side of her face still ached something awful, not to mention her hand.

“I haven’t seen you at meals,” Draco asked cautiously, as though he were dealing with a scared crup and not his longtime friend.

“I’m not hungry,” Pansy replied quietly. She bristled at Draco’s long-suffering sigh that followed. As always, he made it seem like he was the one who was impacted by what happened just a few weeks ago.

“I’m hungry right now.”

“Too bad, dinner’s over,” Pansy snapped, focusing on grasping the railing as she walked up the stairs. Her small stockpile of nuts and breads was just about stale, leaving her constantly dizzy and hungry. The dizziness combined with the pain from her hand and eye left her constantly miserable and irritable, not that Draco saw it fit to ask before today. Eight days at school and nothing. Sixteen days since… and nothing.

The blond raised an eyebrow at her, “Pansy, are you telling me you’ve never been to the kitchens?”

How did everyone and their mother suddenly know where the kitchens were?

A short while later, Pansy was slightly shocked and extremely delighted to find herself surrounded by a sea of house elves.

“Oh, we is being so lucky! Master Draco and beautiful mistress! We is so happy to be serving you,” a heavyset purple elf squealed, her pink tea towel close to falling off with her happy movements.

“We’re starving,” Draco moaned, draping a hand across his nonexistent stomach. The elves let out horrified noises at his exaggeration.

“We is having food! Sit!” the same elf said before sprinting towards the large kitchen

Pansy let out a huff as she sat down on a bench that looked almost exactly like the ones they sat on upstairs in the Great Hall.

The girl’s stomach let out a cataclysmic roar as two roast chickens, potatoes, salad, rolls and peas were placed in front of them. She could only feel slightly self conscious as she used her left hand to scoop peas onto her plate, dropping almost half the spoonful each time she lifted it.

“Paley does it, mistress!” a lime green elf squeaked, placing one small hand on Pansy’s pantyhose-covered thigh and using the other to levitate food to the empty plate.

“Thank you,” Pansy smiled smally at the elf, receiving a wide-eyed happy stare in reply.

“So kind!” the elf sniffed as she stepped back to watch the pair eat along with the swath of elves.

Not even the bulbous eyes of elves or the light eyes of the only person she knew actually ever slightly cared for her could stop her from chowing down as well as she could with her bad hand. Not that Draco was actually watching.

She was one of the few people who knew how much of a disgusting eater he was, having seen Narcissa scold him many times for acting as though he hadn’t eaten in months and spewing food everywhere. It was one of the many reasons Pansy was grateful she now didn’t have to marry him. For a few minutes every day, though, it would have been nice to know that her husband looked more disgusting than she did.

“Your hand isn’t healed?” Draco asked after he finished eating, patting his mouth daintily with a cloth napkin as though he hadn’t just ripped a piping hot roast chicken in half and rooted around for white meat with his hands.

“No.”

“Have you gotten it checked out?” Draco asked.

“Yes, Draco. Dumbledore checked out my bloody hand then called my parents in for a meeting to discuss the years of neglect I’ve faced,” Pansy asked, smiling gratefully down at the nice elf, Paley who stood dutifully by her side. Her stomach sunk a bit as she thought about the Parkinson elves that were now forbidden from serving her.

Draco blushed slightly. “That was… insensitive. Sorry, Pans. Snape would help if you asked, you know he would.”

Pansy shook her head, “You’re the one who told me he’s close with Dumbledore. I don’t need any help regardless, it's healing on its own.”

“Pansy… I think you should get it checked out. Shit gets infected quickly, witches aren’t impervious to disease.”

“Haven’t you had enough say when it comes to my body?” Pansy shrieked, rage flowing through her. “Just leave me alone.”

Draco’s always superior posture deflated, his shoulders folding over in shame. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

“Save it,” Pansy breathed. “Just leave me alone.”

“I’ll finish rounds,” Draco replied. “I’ll tell someone you’re ill if they ask.”

Pansy barely listened. Did he really think she cared about bloody prefect rounds right now?

Draco finally left a few minutes later, after he realized Pansy was done talking to him.

“Mistress… is Paley being able to help?” the small elf from before asked her.

“No, thank you. I’m just fine,” Pansy replied with a small smile. Why was it that only elves seemed to care for her?

“Is you being certain?” the elf cocked its hip, looking up in defiance. Pansy’s heart warmed at the sight that reminded her so much of her nanny elf, Iffy.

“I’m certain. I just need sleep,” Pansy replied before a thought came to mind. “Well… if it’s not too much trouble, would you be able to bring me meals in my dorm?”

“Why is you not eating with the others? Is the food not good for mistress?”

“The food is perfectly fine, I prefer eating alone.”

“Okay…” the elf said. “Paley is bringing mistress food. May she know the name of mistress?”

“Pansy,” she replied. “Pansy Parkinson.”

**September 13, 1996**

As a pureblooded woman, Pansy was born and bred to take the pain and hardship that she faced and swallow it. Showing emotion was weakness, and as a society woman, weakness was never accepted. A girl’s role was to never embarrass her parents, and a woman’s to stand by her husband’s side and smile, bear and rear his heir, perhaps a spare if she was lucky, and then die without a stain to her last name. Rinse, dry, repeat.

The pain she was feeling now, however? She could hardly bear it.

Waking up, she could barely breathe through the shivers wracking her body, the constant throbbing in her right hand beating in time with her heart. It was pitch black in the enclosed comfort of her curtained bed, but the darkness made it difficult for her to know what time it was. She weakly reached up with her left hand to wrench back the curtains and check the windows. Pitch black. At least she’d gotten a few hours of sleep.

Get up, Pansy, she told herself. Her legs were shaky, and a lifetime of muscle memory had her reaching her right hand out to grip the wooden frame of her bed. The pained cry she let out was loud, and she almost hoped that her dorm mates heard her. Would they finally ask how she was doing? Would she accept their help?

Her quick walk to the bathroom only increased the hysteria that’d been building in her for almost a month now. She’d forgotten her sunglasses, meaning that the bright light was almost blinding.

“Get it together,” she whispered, reaching into whatever miniscule tank of Gryffindor courage she had deep within her as she moved to unwrap her bandaged hand. The sight that met her had her throwing up in the sink before helpless tears poured out of her eye. She wasn’t a crier, not before this. Her sense of self-preservation had her screaming to just go back to bed, while her logical side told her to find help before she died. Her delirium was beating all of her good sense out, though, the pain and exhaustion and starvation that had been plaguing her finally pulling her down.

Later, much later, she’d laugh at the thought of anyone coming across a crying, barefoot, bleeding, eye-patched Pansy Parkinson in the dungeons. The cold of the million-year-old tiles now felt soothing to her burning feet that were dragging along the hallway to where she knew she needed to go. She needed help. She needed someone to stroke her hair and tell her everything was going to be okay, even if it was a lie.

She remembered Daphne sobbing to her drunkenly in their fifth year as she recounted how her dad had her pet their childhood cat while he AKed it to keep it calm. The pretty blonde had whimpered about how the old cat was so happy to have attention and affection that it never noticed death coming straight for it. Pansy wished to know how the cat felt right about now.

“Help me,” she sobbed, banging her good hand on the wooden door in front of her. What if he wasn’t there? What if he didn’t want to help?

She needed to be calm. She tried to be calm. Only, that’s not what happened.

“What in th-” a still-dressed Severus Snape started, obsidian eyes wide as he stared at the barely-recognizable mess of a girl in front of him. She was dressed in a camisole and knickers, her nipples, ribs and hips clearly visible through the fabric. The girl was always rail thin, but now? Now she was skeletal. Her bandaged eye was a topic of conversation among his colleagues as much as his students, he was loath to discover.

His main concern, though, was the disgusting smelling, bleeding and pus-filled excuse for her right hand. Though it’d been wrapped the past few weeks, the man assumed she was seeking attention like most young girls and covering up a barely there papercut. It’s not like he knew his students to act more maturely, especially not his Slytherin girls.

“Get in here, girl,” Snape ordered in a voice gentler than he knew possible. The still-sobbing girl staggered in, taking gulping breaths as though to calm herself down. Severus was impressed that the girl had so much power of self when she was clearly in pain.

“There you are, lay down on the couch.” Snape covered her legs up with a warm wool blanket, carefully lifting her hands out of its way. He’d seen naked and inebriated students, menstruating students, copulating students, but the fact still stood… he wasn’t interested in seeing any of it for his own pleasure. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

Severus moved quicker than normal into his laboratory, grabbing every potion that could possibly help the girl whimpering in his living quarters.

“What happened to your hand, Miss Parkinson?”

“Pansy,” she breathed. “Just Pansy.”

The dark-haired man sighed at the insufferably stubborn girl. “What happened to your hand, Pansy? Swallow this first.”

Severus held her head up as though she were a newborn baby as he fed her a pain potion. A properly brewed pain potion.

“They took it,” Pansy garbled through the last mouthful of the potion that was the perfect light blue she couldn’t attain. Not that she’d tell her former potions professor that.

“Who?”

“I thought you knew everything?” Pansy asked, eyes hazy as she stared at the man who still held her head up.

“Pansy,” Snape said in a warning voice. “There’s no time for your games when you’re bleeding out of an unknown wound.”

She cackled, sounding more like Bellatrix Lestrange than anyone had the right to.

“Draco, he said no to the D-d… him.”

“No to what?” Severus asked urgently, vials clinking in his lap as his stomach sank.

“Doesn’t matter… they took my finger and eye before he said yes,” Pansy sighed, tears filling the eye that was visible. The only eye she seemed to have left.

“It does matter. What did Draco do?”

“The headmaster… he has to kill him or they kill me.” Pansy whimpered. As much as she pretend to not fear death, she did. She knew how much they would make it hurt. “They’re going to kill me, sir.”

Severus was grateful for his occlumency shields as his mind raged. He was going to kill Narcissa. The bitch conned him into thinking Draco was the lone victim of the Dark Lord’s will, given a task that even Severus, a member of the inner circle, wasn’t informed of. The true victim was the girl right in front of him.

“Pansy… you’re going to be okay,” Snape promised, unsure of what else there was to say.

“You’ll help me?” She looked more like a young girl than Severus had ever witnessed, not that he’d ever really looked at Pansy Parkinson as more than just another number in his ranks.

“Of course, girl. You’re going to make it out of this war alive.”

“Draco too,” she breathed, letting out a scream as he poured his Infection Eliminator Elixir over her hand without warning, knowing that the strength of the brew was causing her more pain than he could fathom.

“Draco too,” Snape promised. Not that he had a bloody choice at this point. Narcissa had already sealed the boy’s fate, likely at the potion master's own demise.

Snape poured the most foul tasting brews imaginable down Pansy’s throat as she screamed, knowing she was more focused on her hand than what was going into her mouth. No one ever considered him a nice man, he already knew that.

“No more,” the girl croaked after ingesting her sixth potion.

“Wrong,” Snape drawled, kinder than normal. “Two more. What’d you eat for dinner?”

“Slept through.”

“I don’t believe that’s food. Minky, bring me a bowl of broth.”

“Yessir!” an elf popped in the room to only pop right back out.

Snape raised an eyebrow as a new elf popped in with the broth.

“Mistress Pansy, you is scaring Paley!” the elf admonished gently, floating the bowl of broth over. “Master Professor Snape feeds young miss.”

Snape only sighed slightly before beginning to spoon broth into his student’s mouth. The elf moved around him unobtrusively, pulling the girl’s short hair behind a conjured headband and dabbing her feverish forehead with a cloth.

“She is being fine, Master Professor. Paley promises.”

“Two people who care about me in one room, it’s a record,” Pansy mumbled to herself, letting out a little giggle that dug back to Severus’ own childhood.

“You can leave, elf.” Snape directs.

“Bye Paley,” Pansy murmured, smiling when the elf stood on its tippy toes to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Bye bye, mistress. See you soon,” the elf promised before leaving.

“Can I remove the bandage from your face, Pansy?” Snape asked cautiously.

“No.”

“Why not?” Severus tried not to be amused at the childish petulance of this particular girl in such a dark situation, but found himself failing.

“You don’t want to see what happened… and it hurts.”

“Does your hand hurt less?”

Pansy frowned. “Yes..”

“I’ll be able to help your eye if you let me see it.”

Pansy let out a choked sob. “You can’t help.”

Severus took that as consent and gently removed the well secured gauze covering the top right half of her face.

“Merlin,” the man muttered despite himself, knowing he deserved the sob his teenage charge let out at his exclamation. Whoever did this was a veteran at torture, narrowing his list down almost immediately.

“Will I die?”

“No,” Snape promised. “You won’t die.”

He stared at the gaping hole where her eye should be and wondered how the hell this had been kept so quiet. How was a sixteen-year-old girl tortured by a Death Eater without him finding out?

“I’m going to give you a sleeping draught,” Snape narrated. “You’ll sleep in here, and we’ll speak when you wake up. Your professors will be notified that you’ll miss tomorrow’s classes.”

Pansy let out a snort that sounded like it came from a large pig, not the tiny girl in front of him. “No offense sir, but that doesn’t bloody well matter to me.”

Severus let out a surprised laugh of his own as he reached to cradle the girl’s head again and pour the pleasant-tasting potion down her throat. “I’d have to say you’re right, Pansy. Now sleep, girl. Sleep.”

He levitated her to his bed once she was asleep, happy that he had ordered the elves to wash his linens and comforter every day. Once certain that she was comfortable and asleep, he headed out of the room and up to the headmaster’s office. Though he hated nothing more than involving the scheming man in the details of his life, especially when it involved his students, he knew it was necessary.

Miss Parkinson faced certain death if they were to knowingly send her home for the holidays. The Dark Lord might hate Poseidon Parkinson, but he clearly found his son, Perseus, useful enough not to use as a pawn. But Pansy? This little slip of a girl that could be used as a threat for both a wayward Malfoy and Parkinson? She was like a sheep sauntering unknowingly to slaughter. And if her current maims showed it, her death would be nothing less than brutal.

Once upstairs, he murmured the dreaded phrase, ‘lemon drops’ and stepped into Dumbledore’s office. Despite the late hour, he knew the old man would be up. There were many tasks he needed to complete before he died, and Severus had yet another to add to the list.

xxxxxxxxx

Pansy felt better than she had in weeks as she rejoined the land of the living. She opened her eye cautiously, always anxious that someone had broken through her feeble wards and pulled her curtains back to watch her sleep… or worse.

With the trajectory her life had taken lately, worse wasn’t that far off. What were they going to do… take her other eye? Crucio her? They’d have to be pretty original to hurt her in a way she hadn’t already experienced.

In a cliche way she’d only read about in the muggle novels she sniped from a back shelf of the Hogwarts Library, the events of the last time she was awake came rushing back to her. Pain. Crying. Snape. Salazar’s rod, Pansy thought.

After a lifetime of never asking for help, she’d gone and turned into the most pathetic damsel in distress that’d ever lived. Turning to her most surly professor for help, no less. She hoped that he’d at least be gallent enough to AK her himself rather than sending her back to… him.

She only panicked over whether or not she should stay in bed or head out of whatever room she was in for a minute before her professor took the decision away from her.

“Pansy,” the man greeted, moving to sit delicately in the leather chaise near the bed. She felt guilty at her surprise over the man having nice belongings, having assumed he was just as indigent as his father remarked he was during their time at Hogwarts. Clearly, her father was wrong about a lot of things.

“Sir,” she replied, uncharacteristically shy. Her voice croaked over the short word.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, dark eyes wide with a care she’d never experienced, not from him or anyone else.

She sighed quietly, “As well as one can, sir.”

The man smiled without teeth, his attempt at comfort looking like a grimace on his always severe features. Pansy appreciated it.

“That sounds about right, girl. You’d be feeling much better if you would’ve sought help weeks ago rather than trudging along like some emaciated street urchin.”

Pansy bristled at his disapproving stare.

“Help from who? Draco, who offered me up on a platter to save himself? My father, who used the cruciatus on me after they took my finger? Professor McGonagall, who confiscated my sunglasses and didn’t stop to ask why I needed them in the first place? Stellar options, sir.”

The man had the grace to look down in shame or anger. She would’ve been fine with either. Anything but pity.

“I don’t think anyone else can relate as well to your feelings of isolation than me, Pansy. And for that, I apologize. In Hogwarts, no one should be left without help..”

The girl raised her left eyebrow, grimacing at the feeling of emptiness in her right eye that had been covered with new gauze.

“Would’ve been nice if you figured that out before I lost body parts,” Pansy replied tightly. She was surprised at her professor’s snort.

“Lovely as ever. Be grateful they can’t take your spirit.”

“A few more crucios and they would’ve,” Pansy replied, her voice much more light than it had any reason to be.

The man winced.

“Why don’t you hop in the bath while the awful creature that insists on staying here assists?”

Pansy looked up in askance as the man snapped his fingers. She couldn’t help but let out a happy noise when Paley walked in.

“Merlin help the House of Salazar. If only Granger could see you now… her club finally has a second member,” Snape murmured, sounding much too friendly.

“Unlike Granger, I love house elves for who they are, not who I think they should be,” Pansy snapped back, forgetting who she was talking to in her defense of her favourite creatures.

“We love Miss Pansy!” the elf replied before moving into the en suite bathroom. “Paley is putting on a bubbly bath.”

“Thank you,” Pansy replied, receiving another cry of adulation from the elf.

“No thank you needed, mistress. Paley is bringing her own bubble bath, the master professor had none! No bubbles to be found.”

Pansy giggled behind her left hand, missing the soft smile from her professor.

“I’ll leave you to bathe, girl. Paley has my instructions on care for your hand and eye.”

She nodded, “Thank you.”

“We’ll meet with the headmaster after you bathe and figure out our course of action.”

“No way,” Pansy replied, shaking her head.

Snape stood, offering a hand to the half-starved girl in front of him. She reluctantly took it, slightly unsteady on her feet after an unknown amount of time in bed.

“This isn’t up for discussion. Get in the bath, girl.”

Pansy shot the man as dirty a look as she could with one eye before stomping into the bathroom and letting out a yelp as she tried to slam the door with her right hand. If she was going to be fingerless, it should at least be painless. Shouldn’t it?

A luxurious bath later that included the first real scrub her hair had gotten since her life went to shit thanks to her loving elf friend, she found herself dressed in a black shift dress that another elf had retrieved from her trunk.

“Early afternoon classes just began, we shouldn’t run across any students. If we do, however, your normal apathetic expression should suffice to diffuse attention.”

“One scowl coming up,” Pansy replied dutifully. “Do you have my wand, sir?”

Snape held his hand up and performed an impressive nonverbal, wandless summoning charm before handing the light-colored white oak wand over.

For all her bravado, Pansy felt her stomach drop with every step they took towards the headmaster’s office. She’d never spoken to the man, not even when she’d served as the least enthusiastic member of the inquisitorial squad. Did he even know who she was? She doubted it.

“Lemon drops,” Professor Snape said, stopping out of nowhere.

Before Pansy could even question the weird phrase, a staircase opened where a stone gargoyle previously stood. Lemon drops was a password. A very odd password.

She took her professor’s proffered arm, letting him walk her carefully down the steps. She was still a bit out of it, as much as she hated to admit it.

“Ah, Miss Parkinson, Professor Snape. Welcome,” a softly smiling Albus Dumbledore greeted, his blue eyes harder than normal, Pansy noticed.

“Sir,” Pansy replied, swallowing down bile at the mention of her last name. She’d marry the giant squid if only to assume a different last name, one that didn’t make her ill.

“Lemon drop?” the old man asked, pushing a small glass dish towards Pansy and Professor Snape as they sat down.

“Unless you like the taste of sucking on a lemon covered in sugar, you should pass,” Snape drawled, drawing a short laugh from Dumbledore.

“What a way to describe my favoured treats, Severus. Dare to try one, my dear?”

“No thank you, sir,” Pansy said after a pause, receiving a nod.

“How are you feeling, Miss Parkinson?”

“Doing well, sir.”

Pansy shifted in her seat at the pause that followed, both men staring at her as though they cared to see through the mask she wore. A deep bitterness invaded her chest at the thought; why did it take her losing an eye and a finger for the adults intended to serve as her guardians during the school year to receive their care?

“I’m quite happy to hear that…”

Silence. Pansy knew the quiet would end shortly. Gryffindors were predictable like that.

“Miss Parkinson…” Dumbledore started with what he thought to be a delicate expression on his face.

Pansy couldn’t stand it.

“Just ask.”

The old man startled slightly, clearly not expecting his student’s ire to be directed at him. He’d have been far less surprised if he spent more time around Slytherins, namely Pansy.

“I appreciate your candor, Miss Parkinson. If it doesn’t trouble you, may I ask what happened to leave you in such a state?”

The girl blushed at his words. Even an old, supposedly gay man thought she was ugly, what a confidence booster.

“The d-... he wanted to threaten Draco and thought I was the only way to do so. My father being a useless arse didn’t leave them feeling extra sentimental either.”

“Why did they need to threaten Draco?”

Pansy turned to look at Snape who sat on her left.

“Why does anyone threaten anyone? To comply.”

“To kill me,” Dumbledore replied lightly.

“To kill you.”

“Thankfully, I’ve lived a long, full life and death is my next adventure. Do you happen to know how Mr. Malfoy intends to do so?”

Pansy scoffed. “Respectfully, sir… if you had invested any time over the past six years into learning about Draco, you would know that he has no plan other than knowing he’s obligated to act.”

The man sighed, looking even older than the really old age that Pansy knew he was.

“I appreciate your honesty once more, my girl. You’re right, much to my shame. I know very little about you and Mr. Malfoy, but I know that following Voldemort is not the only path you have to take. There’s another way for you, dear. You must have the courage to take it.”

Pansy let out an incredulous lie. “You act as though there was ever another path for me. In what world would you have taken me in if I came to you? When have you ever thought twice about me or any other Slytherin, for that matter? I’m going to die a painful death when Draco fails to kill you, and I’ve come to terms with it. I don’t need Gryffindor valor to make my last year alive worse than it already is.”

“Stop the dramatics!” Snape snapped sharply. “You’re not going to die.”

“I’m going to die,” Pansy repeated again, her voice shaky.

“You’re not going to die, dear girl. However, in order to make that happen, we’ll have to ensure that others believe you did.”

Pansy looked up, both intrigued and worried knowing that Dumbledore was involving her in one of his harebrained plots.

“Whatever it takes,” Pansy breathed. “Whatever it takes.”

**September 18, 2020**

“Please, Pansy… just talk to me.” Draco muttered from where he sat across from her. Like clockwork. She didn’t look up to give Professor Snape a knowing smirk, though she assumed the headmaster was doing that for her.

Much like the past few days since she made her grand reentry to meals in the Great Hall, Draco had attempted to make conversation with her. He was normally lured back to sit with the sixth and seventh years from her alienated spot at the far front of the table, but he’d at least try to get her to speak.

She’d become a master of elusion, walking into her classes at the last second and leaving the moment they were dismissed. No one but Draco tried to speak to her, leaving her feeling slightly guilty at what she was about to do. More than anything, she hoped that he wouldn’t fuck up the enormous opportunity she was about to give him to better his life. At least one of them would have the chance to live a normal life.

“No, Draco,” Pansy replied, voice rough from lack of use. She heard his sharp inhale, the blond clearly surprised to hear her reply to him. Showtime.

“Why not? I’ve told you I’m sorry, what else can I do?”

“You can fuck off,” Pansy replied, sloppily stabbing a quarter of roast potato with her fork. To say that the reaction to seeing a nine-fingered Pansy Parkinson sans-bandage was dramatic was an understatement. A ghastly scar on Potter’s head got drooled over, but a four-fingered hand was disgusting? That didn’t add up.

Ron Weasley pretended to puke when she opened the door to the greenhouse they had class in, leaving an unusually repentant Hermione Granger to apologize for his actions at least four times throughout class. A Hufflepuff first year kindly suggested she go to the hospital wing to see what could be done for her. Salty wannabe Death Eater Marcus Flint tripped her as she exited the Great Hall two days ago, guffawing like a pranking first year when no one in the entire room moved to help her up.

“Salazar’s fucking rod, Pansy. You make it hard to want to be your friend,” Draco sighed, running a hand through his uncharacteristically lank hair. Clearly, the year was already getting to him. Pansy hoped once more that his life would improve in her absence. Better for her sacrifice or whatever else Dumbledore called their jacked-up plot.

She exhaled, dropping her fork from her shaky left hand. “That’s the thing, Draco. I don’t think you want to be my friend.”

“What’s this then?” he replied, shoulders stiffening as he steeled for the fight he knew to come. He, unlike Pansy, had the good thought to look around to see if anyone was listening in. Pansy swallowed her smirk.

“This is you assuaging your guilt for what you’ve done to me. If you cared to be my friend, you would’ve started years ago!”

“Your revisionist, woe is me history is just shit, Pansy. We’ve always been friends.”

“I’ve always been a friend, Draco! Not you.” Pansy started raising her voice, drawing the attention of the second years closest to them. “I was the one writing you every holiday, I was the one who planned trips to Hogsmeade, I’m the one who cancelled on a bloody Durmstrang so you didn’t go to the Yule Ball alone!”

Draco shook his head and clearly shook off the truth that she’d just spat at him. Even if it was staged on her end, she felt good getting her thoughts off her chest. Finally.

“Who bloody cares! I’m trying to be here for you now, does that count for nothing?”

“It does count for nothing!” Pansy shrieked. “If you cared, you would’ve asked me how I was doing weeks ago when I couldn’t hold my quill and failed three essays. Maybe, Draco, if you cared you could have stood up for me when Weasley pretended to vomit every time he came near me for an entire day.”

“Calm down,” Draco replied, face turning slightly pink as he realized the entire hall was watching them like they were the leads at the opening night of a new opera.

“Don’t worry about me calming down, Draco,” Pansy laughed, the hysterical sound echoing alongside the occasional scrape of a fork on someone’s plate. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“Pansy, please,” Draco croaked. Pansy swallowed her tears as she stood up, moving to make her grand and final exit from the Great Hall. She couldn’t even tell if Draco was begging her to stay or asking her to shut up and stop embarrassing him.

No one stopped her as she fled, she was no one to anyone. Despite it all, she couldn’t help but wonder if anyone would cry when news of her death reached them. She hoped they would.

xxxxxxxxx

Pansy’s wand started vibrating promptly at 3:17, not that she’d been asleep. Moving as silently as she could, she headed out of her dorm for the last time, leaving her belongings in her trunk.

Though he wasn’t actually patrolling, Professor Snape had claimed nightly rounds in order to keep prowling prefects and Filch’s demon cat locked inside whatever sad room they called home.

In a small stroke of luck that she absolutely deserved after the mess her life had become, no one crossed her path on her hurried walk to the headmaster’s office. She only breathed a sigh of slight relief when she’d slid into the office at last. Step one of Dumbledore’s most insane plot to date -that she knew of, at least- was complete. Unfortunately for her, this was the easiest task set in front of her.

“Ah, Miss Parkinson! Are you ready?” an unnecessarily chipper Dumbledore asked. Professor Snape was rightfully scowling behind him.

“You act like we’re going to the beach,” Pansy snapped, feeling weirdly comfortable with the old man after a week of almost constantly being in his company.

“Your candor is titillating as always, my dear.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just use the word titillating when speaking to a sixteen-year-old girl, Albus,” Snape sneered.

“Head out of the gutter, my boy. We have a lot of work ahead of us, we must get moving.”

Pansy snorted, hiding her nerves with attitude in a way that had always worked. Unfortunately, however, she knew both men in front of her saw right through her.

“Who had setting up a fake murder scene with a real body in their 1996 calendar?”

“That’s why I don’t keep a calendar. You can never truly know what’s ahead of you,” Dumbledore replied solemnly, drawing twin sighs out of Pansy and Snape.

“Once you take this, your body will go into a deathlike slumber. You’ll wake in around three days.” Snape stepped closer, placing one large hand on Pansy’s bicep. “Your bravery is remarkable, Miss Parkinson. If I thought it meant anything to you, I’d give you one last set of house points.”

Pansy laughed wetly. “I think you mean my first and last set of house points, sir. But you’re right; I’d quite like to see my house rot.”

“I am quite certain that Slytherin will not win the House Cup this year, so go into your slumber with peace in your heart,” Dumbledore hummed.

“That’s the least of my worries, sir, but thank you for the prediction. Can we get this over with?”

“Lay down first,” Snape instructed, leading her over to a leather couch that was a new addition to the office.

Flashes of the few truly warm memories she had flooded through her mind as she laid down, fixing her nightgown to cover her fully.

Draco and her at age four, giggling as a unicorn waltzed into a meadow at Malfoy Manor. Perseus taking her up on his broom for the first time at age six. Professor Flitwick owling her a kind congratulations note after she received an O on her Charms O.W.L.

Her life, as it came to a false end, was pitiful. She’d be remembered for half-hearted efforts in class and a sour attitude. Knowing she had longer to live left her guilty for how little she’d cared about life.

She was grateful that neither solemn man remarked on the tears streaming down her left cheek. The last thought in her head was of how warm the headmaster’s hand was in her own, comfort that she thought wouldn’t ever come her way only weeks earlier. Everything went black as she promised herself to do better if she really received a second go at life. She prayed, whatever that meant, Neville bloody Longbottom, that her professor’s brew was as impeccable as always. She wanted to live.

xxxxxxxxx

Unlike the beautiful witches awoken with true love’s kiss that Pansy had elves read to her about as a girl, she came back into the world with wild gasps of air. And vomit. More vomit than she ever wanted to expel from her body.

“There yeh go lass, let it out,” a deep, unfamiliar voice ordered, sounding far less comforting than she thought he was trying to be. “Shit’s been rattling around your intestines for days with nowhere to go.”

Pansy sucked in the warm air of wherever the hell she was like it was a French-made acromantula silk robe on sale, panic overtaking her at the feeling that she couldn’t fucking breathe.

“It’s in your head, girl. You can breathe just fine, just take it slow.”

Despite feeling all together suspicious of the legitimacy of the shit advice she was given, Pansy tried to slow her stuttered breathing. In. In. Out. In. In. Out.

76 inhales later, Pansy felt centered enough to open her eye. She jumped at the sight of a face she’d never seen before. Or… rather, a face she’d only seen polyjuiced.

“There you are,” the man said, smiling crookedly. Pansy knew she didn’t mask her surprise well when his smile grew. Who knew he’d have perfect teeth? Not her.

“Thank you,” Pansy croaked, annoyed to realize her voice was back to the gravelly mess it was at the start of the term.

The man nodded tersely. “Can’t say I’ve ever lived with a lass before, never one young as you no doubt. So you’ll need to speak up for what you need.”

Pansy snorted at his weirdly uncomfortable and insecure gruffness. She’d called Dumbledore something along the lines of an old bag of dicks when he’d first told her that she reminded him of the old auror when she asked who she’d be living with. Now, though, a few minutes into her time as Alastor Moody’s roommate, she could see that Dumbledore wasn’t totally wrong. Not that she would ever, ever tell him that in any context whatsoever; especially this one.

“I’m sure we’ll coexist adequately. You get to go and do whatever crime fighting is on the docket in a corrupt Ministry, and I’ll hide away here.”

Moody let out a loud laugh that had his glass eye rolling in his head. Pansy hated how gaudy the large leather strap holding it in was, but she couldn’t help but be jealous that he didn’t have a gaping hole in his head.

“I like your fire, lass. Hungry?”

Pansy smiled slightly, a shared grin for their new beginning and accepted his workworn hand in her own. “Famished.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fast forward to Neville and Pansy meeting & vibiiing in the next chapter :)

**May 2, 1998**

“You’ve lost your mind if you think you can leave me here!” Pansy cried, changing out of her nightgown and into her now-favoured dragonhide leather leggings and vest. Who would’ve thought she would find herself most comfortable in trousers after wearing them for the first time at 16? A lot had changed since she’d last stepped foot into Hogwarts, and she felt slightly nervous to head back.

The slight growl echoing in her ears let her know that Alastor was in her room, but she continued changing at an even quicker pace. She was long past caring what the man who was the closest thing she’d ever had to a father saw; he’d seen much, much worse of her than her boobs and bum.

“And you, lass, have lost your damn mind if you think you’re coming! You know what I expect of you if I don’t come back.”

Pansy let out a shriek, picking up her wand and stomping over to the man like the child inside of her that she couldn’t quite eradicate.

“Aren’t you the one who told me from day one that I don’t leave your sight? What happened to that?”

The grizzled auror sighed, his shoulders still tense. He was ready for battle, and Pansy was keeping him from it. As much as she knew he loved her, even though he’d never say it, he would still blow his top on her if she didn’t let him leave soon.

“We’ve made it this long, my banféinní. I’ll haunt you until you’re in the grave if you die on me now.”

“I won’t,” Pansy promised, nodding. She was the only one who could get him to melt like a sugar quill on a hot day.

“If this goes tits up, you portkey. You’re recognized, you portkey. You’re injured, you portkey. If we win, you leave the second it's over. You hear?”

“Yes, da,” Pansy replied, bending over at the waist to pull her long hair into a high ponytail. Though she couldn’t see him, she knew Alastor was grimacing at the movement. He hated her hair, constantly listing the ways that it could cost her her life or another limb. It took her screaming right back that it was the only decision she’d ever made for herself and enjoyed that silenced him.

Deep down, she now knew that Dumbledore wasn’t wrong when he’d told her she would find kinship with her should-have-been professor for much more than her eye injury.

“Wand?” Moody asked.

“Yes.”

“Backup wand?”

“Yes.”

“Emergency bag?”

“Yes.”

“Potions?”

“Yes.”

“Show me your portkey.”

Pansy pulled her necklace out from where it was nestled between her breasts to show the man the shiny silver key hung on it. The portkey would activate whenever she needed it, one of the man’s countless illegal undertakings Pansy had been delighted to be a part of.

“Let’s go,” the man said with a tight nod, holding one thick forearm out to Pansy. Her nerves were evident by the way that she didn’t even argue about apparating herself, one of the many skills she’d learned over her two years of living with Alastor Moody.

She was grateful for the cover of night that covered her slight shock as they landed in Hogsmeade. Aberforth Dumbledore was acting like a drill sergeant, gathering hordes of individuals into battle lines.

After ensuring she was following him, Moody made his way up towards Aberforth, his wooden walking stick clinking against the ground with every step. Pansy had no idea why he pretended to need the stick, but wouldn’t hold it against him. They all had crutches, some more literal than others.

“Aye, Madeye,” Aberforth barked, nodding. “Girl? What the hell… my brother will have your head, Alastor.”

“The girl can speak for herself,” Pansy retorted. “Your brother can shove it. Clearly he needs all the help he can get if there’s a call going out after the battle’s begun.”

The old man snorted, his beard shaking. “Your coffin, girl.”

“I have a few others I’d like to send to theirs first,” Pansy smirked.

“Abe, I doubt we have this much time to spare,” a prim voice called out.

Pansy raised an eyebrow at the elegant looking old woman who marched up to the man, staring him down even though she had to be at least seven inches shorter than him. Pansy respected women, like herself, who felt comfortable making any man feel small, height notwithstanding.

“Lady Longbottom, you’re alive,” Moody greeted cheerily.

Pansy raised her eyebrows, grateful to have gotten the skill back after a few months of practice with her one-eyed roommate. Pansy could tell he actually liked the woman just by the tone he used. Longbottom. Augusta Longbottom. The Order of the Phoenix’s one and only society woman, in the flesh. Pansy couldn’t help but admire her.

Like clockwork, a scream echoed loudly through the village, sending shivers down Pansy’s spine.

“Troops, ready!” Aberforth roared like a king from a book that she would’ve once read.

Pansy had never felt more exhilarated than she did as she raced towards Hogwarts, unsure of what lay before her. The hooves of centaurs beating on the ground, the steady thump of her fellow witches and wizards’ feet, surely hoping they didn’t run out of energy on the run up to the school. They had a war to win.

She knew this was the moment they’d been working towards for two years, not that anyone knew she was doing it. Or that she was alive, for that matter.

The first thing she saw as she was closing in on the school at the very front of the battle line was Neville Longbottom wearing the Sorting Hat. On fire. Then he wasn’t. He was killing the big snake, the only horcrux left. _The only horcrux left._

“Into the school! Into the school!” a battleworn Minerva McGonagall screamed. Pansy might have a grudge against the bitch, but she had Antonin Dolohov’s scraggly brown hair in her sight, and she’d be damned if someone else got to him before she did.

The Great Hall was a bigger mess than Pansy had ever seen it, fights broken out everywhere. She thrived in the chaos surrounding her, the ability to slink in and finally seek the vengeance she had spent many nights dreaming of. The vengeance that Alastor had spent nearly two years preparing her to succeed in seeking.

The shrieking of house elves wielding kitchen utensils like bats out of hell flamed the fire within her. The loyal creatures were better than they ever, ever deserved.

She swallowed a lump in her throat at the loud mantra of an old house elf near her feet, a vat of boiling oil levitating above his head and a butcher knife gripped in his hand.

‘Fight! Fight! Fight for my master, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!’

Her blood started pounding when she saw him; she wouldn’t let Flitwick have the kill, no matter how fond of the man she was. He could get in line.

Pansy shot off a nonverbal stupefy and cursed internally when the man dodged it at the last moment.

“Ma’am, you don’t-” Flitwick started, clearly not recognizing his former student before shaking his head and scurrying off to the next death eater he came across.

Antonin Dolohov’s cold dark eyes widened when he saw the witch in front of him, a smirk coming across his bloody lips.

“Ah, my one-eyed malyshka… not so dead after all?” Dolohov crooned, fully focused on the volleying of nonverbal spells.

“You’ll be dead soon,” Pansy replied, gritting her teeth. The arsehole was good. But she was better.

“Not so, my girl,” Dolohov replied, an amused grin on his face like he thought she was still the terrified girl whose life he upended. “Look who it is, a family reunion!”

Pansy didn’t look, unable to take her eye off the man. Her senses had grown stronger in the absence of half of her vision, and she could hear the falling of death eaters around her. They were winning, and that meant that she could fight knowing someone would watch her back.

“Ant, we have to get out,” a panting male warned, moving up to the Russian’s side. Perseus.

Pansy shot off a spell as both of their eyes’ widened at something behind her, catching Dolohov off guard for once.

“Incarcerous!”

“Avada kedavra!”

Pansy killed the man who died with a cocky smirk still on his face while her brother, she now noticed, was tied up in invisible chains.

“That’s for Pansy, you fucking beast,” a dirty, rage-filled Draco Malfoy spat as he punched her incapacitated brother in the nose, looking gloriously furious in the heat of the battle. He looked older and sure of himself in a way that his childish cockiness could never quite cover. He looked good.

Pansy turned away quickly, unable to face the emotions that came with the two men in front of her when so many were hurting. When too many Death Eaters were still fighting.

She moved on to see if Rowle was still alive, while pulling potions out of her emergency satchel. Blood replenisher for a Hufflepuff boy in tattered robes. Pepperup for a panting and obese Horace Slughorn. Knitting up the gash on a Weasley’s neck.

The oversized arse had held her down as Dolohov carved her, his rancid breath coating her face with every thrash of her body. The Dark Lord had requested someone to keep her down rather than using a spell, and the creep looked far too eager at holding his beefy body against her own. The world would be a better place without him in it.

Her stomach clenched at the sight of Voldemort holding his own against her da and Dumbledore. She just wanted him to die; it was about seventy years overdue.

“Nice one, Neville!” roared a redhead to the snake slayer’s left, though she wasn’t close enough to tell which Weasley it was.

Stepping closer, she scowled at the sight of an already stupefied and tied up Thorfinn Rowle. She couldn’t very well kill him now, not when there were so many people watching.

She could, however, take out whoever was coming up behind a now solitary and swordless Neville Longbottom.

“Get down!” she screamed, launching her body towards his. He was so shocked at the warning that her slight weight took him straight to the ground. Pansy had stupefied the nameless, inner circle wannabe before Neville had even landed on the ground and cushioned their falls.

“Merlin,” the boy, no, man, breathed. Pansy couldn’t help but blush at the trim body she felt under her, all too aware that all that separated them was his robes and her tight-fitting dragonhide outfit.

“Not Merlin,” Pansy replied, more amused than she had the right to be in the midst of battle. She stood up and dusted herself off, constant vigilance “The answer to your prayers.”

“My… Pansy?”

The girl was gone before she could even take in Neville’s slack-jawed look, eyes trained on Harry bloody Potter who seemed to finally be ending this thing after stepping out of the ring for a bit. Anyone who called witches dramatic had never met the boy.

The tight feeling in her chest loosened at the sight of her da in as perfect a shape as she left him. The scars and rough edges that made him the awfully irritating and intense man that she loved.

“He better end this,” she breathed, wand still at the ready as she moved to Alastor’s side. He was still in his battle-ready stance, but she noticed his shoulders relax slightly the moment that his magic eye met her own. They were both safe.

Pansy could’ve gone without the dramatic back and forth between the fated pair, but was enraptured by the fight in front of her like everyone else. She was observant enough to notice that Severus wasn’t there and couldn’t help but panic slightly.

“Have you seen Sev?” she asked into her da’s ear, stomach sinking at the terse head shake she got in return. Fuck. She’d bring him back to life only to kill him again if he had the audacity to go and die.

When the dust settled, Pansy knew she couldn’t renege on her promise to Moody. She nodded submissively at the man’s expectant stare.

“Leaving, I’m leaving!” Pansy said irately.

She smiled to herself at the rough kiss he bent down and pressed to her forehead, the man’s affectionate move stilted like he was a mannequin that was charmed to move like a human. They both had some issues, but they were working on them.

Leaving the castle was especially difficult this time around. Pansy had to dip, duck, and dodge every manner of cheering couples, mourning families and aurors arresting still-alive death eaters. She kept her head down, staying off the radar in a way that her mum would have loathed. This would have been the perfect time to reintroduce herself into society, show herself as a hero for the victorious side and steal the spotlight. Only she wasn’t her mother and had no desire to draw attention to herself.

Once outside, she breathed a sigh of relief that soon turned into annoyance at the sight of the only four people in the entirety of the fighting forces that were in front of the castle. Directly in her path to Hogsmeade.

Her stomach clenched at the sight of the trio she’d spent years staring at, plus one. The heroic turncoat. Draco.

She’d heard absolutely everything that’d occurred over the past two years, but seeing Draco was different than hearing about him.

“That girl’s bleeding,” Ron Weasley said in his normal voice as though Pansy couldn’t hear her. Still an idiot, she thought to herself.

“I’m sure she’s fine, Ron,” Hermione replied, clearly worn out from the past day. Past few years, too, if Pansy had to guess.

Thankfully that was the extent of the quartet’s interest in her, allowing her to reach the edge of the gates and apparate home quickly.

She took two staggering steps before flopping onto their large sectional sofa that she forced Alastor to buy three days after moving in and seeing the state of his 1800s furniture. And not the fancy, priceless furniture that was at the Malfoy’s ancestral home. The kind that was whittled by a peasant farmer in a barn somewhere BFE. Knowing that Alastor wouldn’t be home for hours made her feel less guilty about getting blood and sweat over the new, expensive furniture.

Falling asleep was easier than she thought as she closed her eyes. There was no thought in her head that was more important than sleep. Dolohov was dead. Voldemort was finally dead. She was safe. Her da was safe. Everything else could take a pause while she got her beauty sleep. Merlin knew she needed it for whatever came next.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sept 2, 2000**

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

Pansy let out a shriek at the noise.

“What the hell!” she exclaimed, drawing a chuckle.

“Those American muggles really did you well, are you sure you don’t want to go back?”

“I don’t, which I believe I’ve told you five hundred times by now. Why are you even awake?”

“Thought I’d give you one last out,” Moody said from the couch where he’d clearly slept with the purpose of stopping Pansy before she Flooed out for her first day of work back in Britain.

Her face visibly softened, one of the many changes the man had seen in his pseudo-daughter over the past two years.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, placing her bag on the ground and hiking up her godawful clementine-coloured robes to perch on the arm of the couch near his head. “I’m ready for this, okay? And if things go to shit today, we’ll pretend it never happened and I’ll move back to Boston. You can even come with me this time.”

“I’d follow you anywhere, my banféinní. I’d preferably stay here where the drinks are stronger than piss, but I’ll leave if we must. I’ll see you after your shift.”

“What a way with words,” Pansy muttered before dropping an awkwardly placed kiss on the blanket-covered man’s cheek. “Love you, see you tonight.”

“Love you too, my girl.”

Pansy tossed her black leather Yves Saint Laurent bag over her shoulder and headed towards the Floo, winking once more at the only person who knew she was back on this side of the pond before calling out her destination.

“St. Mungos!”

She stepped out to a sea of similarly dressed men and women, all clearly well-acquainted by the way they hugged and spoke loudly. Pansy, however, made her way to the back corner of the room in order to not be seen. Who even was she?

“Oh! Sorry,” a kind voice exclaimed, causing Pansy to try and muffle her groan. “Parkinson? What are you doing here?”

Pansy looked up to the slightly taller girl, her hair less bushy and more wavy. It was clear the past two years without a maniac on the loose had done her well.

“It’s actually Moody,” Pansy replied, raising an eyebrow at the girl who was trying and failing at pretending she wasn’t staring at her glass eye. Merlin, she was worse than the kids Pansy dealt with daily.

The Slytherin snickered internally at the way the Gryffindor’s jaw dropped.

“Moody? Congratulations, wow… Um, he never told us!”

“Mind out of the gutter,” Pansy snapped, much more playful than Hermione expected. “You’re the only bint silly enough to change her last name for love.”

Hermione Malfoy blushed at that, pushing an unruly curl behind her ear. “I’ve completely bollocksed this, haven’t I?”

“A bit, but you speak as though my expectations for today were sky-high.”

The girl nodded, the gleam of propriety and friendship way too bright for Pansy. “No! Please… don’t let me ruin your first day. Where will you be working?”

“Pediatrics,” Pansy replied, forcing herself to return the question and continue the conversation. “Yourself?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “That’s.. Wow! Janus Thickey for me. I didn’t expect that of you, honestly.”

Pansy swallowed, looking around to see if anyone was listening to them. She was no fool, she assumed that even their colleagues were likely fawning over the Golden Girl in the flesh.

“I would prefer you lost your expectations of me,” Pansy replied honestly.

Hermione had the decency to blush in shame. “I’m sorry… I really have messed everything up. Please forgive me.”

Pansy nodded and smiled before holding out her right hand. “I’m Pansy Moody, good to see you.”

The pureblood was impressed to see Hermione not even make a face when she shook her right hand that was missing an index finger.

“Hermione Malfoy, I’m really happy to see you as well, Pansy. I hope this is a better start.”

Pansy nodded, “I hope so as well.”

“Healers!” a strong voice called, causing the room to fall silent. “It’s officially your first time being called a healer, how’s that feel?”

Pansy smiled, not joining her new colleagues in their whooping and applauding. She still had standards.

“I’m Healer Miriam Strout, and I speak for all of us here at St. Mungo’s when I say, welcome. We’re so happy to have you as our newest group of healers. I’ll be the first to tell you what you’ve learned over your education that brought you here… your work isn’t easy, your hours are long and, to be frank, your patients are often unappreciative of the work you do. Your colleagues are now your family, and we are on your side from here on out. Now, are you ready to get to work?”

Even Pansy responded to that question with a resounding yes.

xxxxxxxxx

Pansy was surprised it took this long to be cornered, honestly.

“Hi Pansy, how’s your shift going?” Hermione asked, plopping herself down with a salad that had clearly come from home.

“Long,” Pansy replied with a sigh, shoveling another spoonful of egg drop soup from her favorite Italian restaurant into her mouth.

“Same… Lockhart demanded I provide commentary for his puppet show. I wouldn’t have thought he could be worse without his memory than he was with it.”

Pansy snorted, “Better you than me, I don’t think anyone actually tried as hard in his class as you.”

“No! I mean, yes,” Hermione groaned, dropping her fork to hide her face in her hands. “Not you too… what’s with you Slytherins and remembering everything awful and embarrassing I’ve ever done?”

Pansy looked up. “Not a Slytherin, just someone whose mind can’t scrub the images of a baby Granger twirling her curls at their barmy professor.”

Hermione actually smiled back thoughtfully. “You’re right, generalizing someone’s behavior by their house is a bad habit.”

“Just a bit juvenile, no?”

“More than a bit, Pansy. Luna told me you’d been in America? How’s your time back in Britain been?”

Luna Lovegood, to Pansy’s surprise, was also in their group of new healers. From what the blonde had shared with Pansy on their lunch breaks, her and Hermione had been in St. Mungo’s accelerated healing program together. While Hermione was focused on research in the Janus Thickey Ward, Luna was focused on potions mishaps. Like every good little pureblood, Pansy had known from a young age that the girl’s mother had died from a potions accident of her own. She knew exactly how it felt to take on this less-than-glamorous career to try and make someone’s life better than your own.

“A bit of an adjustment, but work has given me enough to do where I haven’t thought much about it.”

The nosy muggleborn made a soft noise, “Now that you mention it… have you seen anyone from Hogwarts since you came back?”

Pansy raised her right eyebrow, an impressive feat counting there was only a piece of acrylic plastic marauding as an eye in her socket.

“I don’t think I mentioned anything of the sort.”

“Still getting used to being around people who don’t fall for my tricks. Harry and Ron were always a bit slow,” Hermione replied, shrugging as though she were anything but apologetic. “Why haven’t you seen anyone, Pansy?”

“No time, no interest.”

“That can’t be true! If I was gone for four years, thought to be dead, no less, I’d want to know everything.”

“Good thing I’m not you then, Granger.”

To her credit, the girl shook off the insult like it was nothing. “My birthday is tomorrow and I’m having a small get together on Saturday. I’d love it if you came.”

Pansy let out a breath, stomach clenching at even the thought of seeing everyone who’d left her behind, who she’d left behind.

“I don’t think so,” Pansy replied with the shake of her long, dark ponytail. “Thank you for the invitation, and have a great birthday if I don’t see you tomorrow.”

“Just think about it, okay?” Hermione asked, eyes pleading in a puppy dog way only truly kind people could pull off. “Everyone would like to see you and… thank you for all you did.”

Pansy only nodded in reply, turning back to her soup. That was enough non-work related emotion and intrigue for the day.

Much to her credit, Hermione didn’t start conversation again or move to a different table for the remaining 12 minutes of their lunch break.

She smiled prettily, Pansy could admit that, when she stood up.

“Finish the day strong, Pansy! I’ll see you later this week,” Hermione replied, waving like a parent wishing the Hogwarts Express adieu as she walked away.

xxxxxxxxx

**October 13, 2000**

“Room 323, Healer Moody,” a willowy horse patronus said in the voice of Healer Roger Davies, one of Pansy’s shiftmates in the peds ward. She took one last bite of her cranberry vinaigrette covered spinach salad before tossing it in the garbage and waving to Hermione and Luna.

The trio had created a tentative friendship, much to Pansy’s surprise and slight happiness. She tried not to think too much of the relationships; her last and only female friendship hadn’t started or ended well. Despite their insistence, Pansy still hadn’t spent time with them outside of work. It’d gotten to a point where even her da was threatening to lock her out of their house so she’d have to find somewhere else to spend her time. He even said time with Severus didn’t count, which ruled out the only human interaction she had outside of work.

“Good luck,” Luna wished lightly. Pansy waved to her softly smiling friends before tightening her ponytail and moving to the lift.

“Healer Davies,” Pansy greeted slightly breathlessly. The man, though as attractive as he’d been during his Hogwarts years, turned out to be very into men. She promised to never make jokes about Fleur Delacour if he was similarly tight-lipped about Draco; they all had baggage, it seemed. It was the start of an excellent work relationship, if she did say so herself.

“Pans,” the man replied, calling her the unprofessional nickname he’d adopted on day one. She’d never corrected him, feeling pathetically special at having someone interested in forming a playful relationship with her. Room 323 was the pediatrics ward’s office that housed their menagerie of files and was warded to high heavens so that the staff could have private conversations.

“A profusely bleeding girl Flooed in herself. She was crying and unable to speak. Looks like a broken arm, but she has been fearful of male healers. Sorry to call you off lunch, but you’re the only woman on shift today.”

Pansy shook her head, “Don’t apologize, I’m paid to work, not eat lunch. What room is she in? How old is she?”

“She looks about five, but we haven’t been able to get her to speak. Room 327.”

Though this was the exact type of case that Pansy had undergone her training to assist with, but the sheer gravity of the situation she was walking into left her head buzzing. Her da’s stern tone floated through her mind warning her to get it together. She took a break before gently knocking and walking into the room.

“Hello there,” Pansy greeted quietly, the sight of a little brunette crying almost too much to bear. Her nose was still bleeding as she cradled her tiny arm to her chest. “My name is Pansy, may I know your name?”

“Talitha,” the girl replied obediently. It was clear to Pansy by the blood-soaked robes she wore and her uppity name that she was a pureblood. She’d been off the grid too long to know who the girl belonged to, though, and her features were indistinguishable from her scrunched, bloody expression.

“Nice to meet you, Talitha. May I come take a look at what’s hurting you?” Pansy asked, moving forward at the girl’s jerky nod. “Ouch, darling. It looks like your arm and nose are pretty banged up. What happened?”

“Was bad again,” the little girl whimpered.

Pansy let out a coo, “I don’t think you could be bad, sweet girl. I’m going to place a quick spell on your nose. It might feel silly, but it’ll help get the bleeding to stop.

The healer flicked her wand quickly, causing the girl’s nose to come together as though she were gently pinching it herself. It was a trick she’d learned in America from a healer who’d grown up in a dry climate where nosebleeds were extremely common.

“There we go. How did you get hurt?”

“Will you tell? Mummy said healers won’t tell if I share something secret.” The girl giggled at the stuffed up way she now sounded and Pansy smiled lightly in return. Her bright hazel eyes weren’t ones that Pansy recognized. Whose child was this?

“Your mummy’s right, Talitha. My job is to get you back in tip-top shape, I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”

“I was with father and spilled my pumpkin juice on the carpet… again. He was playing with his friend and got mad that he had to stop.”

“What did your father do, Talitha?” Pansy asked gently, trying to hide the edge of anger creeping into her tone.

“Well, I ran upstairs to where he was playing with his friend… I knew that Tummy the elf would go tell him I spilled and tried to beat him to father's room. Father was so fast.. he was waiting and pushed me back down the stairs.”

Pansy sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep it together for the sake of this little girl.

“What happened after he pushed you, love?”

“He went back up to his friend. Tummy was so sad at having to tell on me, he helped me get the fire powder in my hand and come here.”

“You’re a brave girl, Talitha. Thank you for sharing. Will you be okay if I go grab some potions to help you out? I’ll be right back and we can take the silly spell off your nose.”

As much as she’d like to, she knew she couldn’t clean the girl up until the aurors showed up. At Talitha’s nod, Pansy quickly exited the room and headed for the staff office.

“Anything, Moody?” Healer Davies asked. Their shift supervisor, Healer Plank was in the room and staring at Pansy with concerned eyes. The woman was quite stoic, but Pansy appreciated her brisk and to the point manner of leadership.

“Her name is Talitha, no last name provided. She’d spilled a glass of juice and her father seems to have commanded their elves to inform him of any messes. By the time she was headed up the stairs, he already knew and just… pushed her back down. At the very least, she has a broken right arm and she’s currently got her nose pinched to stem her bloody nose.”

“Very good, Healer Moody. That isn’t an easy conversation to have. Grab whatever you need to treat the poor girl and I’ll Floo the aurors. I’m sure you already know, but don’t clean her up… evidence.”

“Yes ma’am,” Pansy replied automatically, already thinking through what she needed to help the girl.

By the time she’d pulled Talitha’s hair back off her face and ensured her nose had stopped bleeding, a knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” Pansy said lightly, keeping her voice down for the exhausted and emotional girl.

“Healer Moo-,” a wide-eyed and gargantuan Ron Weasley went to greet and then promptly stopped. His face flushed slightly at the rudeness he clearly realized he was displaying. “I forgot… Healer P-Moody, I’m Ron Weasley. My partner, Auror Dawlish, will be in shortly.”

“Thanks for coming, Auror Weasley,” Pansy greeted formally before gesturing to the little girl now cuddled up under a soft blanket. Hogwarts elves, much to Pansy’s surprise and delight, spent their summers knitting for the patients at St. Mungo’s, giving the pediatrics ward a large number of blankets to provide patients with. “This is Talitha. Talitha, this is Ron Weasley. He works for the Ministry.”

“Father used to work for the Ministry too,” the little girl replied quietly, looking scared of the man. Ron, much to his credit, was already pulling out his notepad and jotting down notes.

Pansy bent down to whisper in the girl’s ear. “He’s nice, I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

The little girl nodded and smiled at Pansy with awe in her eyes.

“Hey, my dad works at the Ministry too,” Ron offered the girl with a soft smile, pretending there was no break in their conversation. “Maybe one of us knows your father- what’s his name?”

“Giordan Montague,” the girl replied eagerly. Pansy knew she shouldn’t be shocked to see Ron Weasley at ease with kids when his family has a veritable zoo full of children. “Do you know him?”

“I don’t,” the redhead replied honestly, looking to Pansy for guidance. He might’ve been a member of the Sacred 28, but she knew the Weasleys didn’t partake in any of the traditions she’d been raised with.

“Would you be related to Graham Montague, Talitha?” Pansy asked, knowing that Weasley clearly forgot the boy’s name. His own brothers had shoved the kid in a cabinet, for Merlin’s sake. How didn’t he remember his name?

Talitha nodded. “My mummy isn’t his, but he and I have the same father. Gianina and him had the same mummy.”

“Is Gianina still at your house, Talitha?” Weasley asked, causing Pansy’s stomach to sink. How hadn’t she even thought through the possibility that another kid was there suffering? What if they were dead?

The little girl’s answer stopped Pansy’s panicked spiral. “No, she’s at Hogwarts. Father said she’s going to switch schools, though, the stupid hat put her in the wrong house.”

Pansy was weirdly pleased to hear Weasley snort and break his seriousness.

The little girl giggled. “You sound like a pig.”

“He does sound like a pig, doesn’t he?” Pansy replied with a devious grin, drawing yet another adorable laugh from the girl.

The conversation unfortunately returned to Talitha’s injuries as Weasley’s much older partner returned. The man had a camera, and Pansy was more than happy to cede to Talitha’s request for her to hold her hand as he took photos of them.

“You are a brave girl,” Weasley praised, causing a happy blush to rise on the girl’s cheeks. “In my books, that deserves a treat.”

The girl’s eyes were wide as the man handed her a sugar quill, a treat that frontline workers like aurors and healers were able to give to children due to the lack of potential allergens in the recipe.

“Thank you Ron!” Talita said, taking two bites to finish the sugary goodness. It was clear to Pansy that the girl hadn’t been given many treats at home, much like her own upbringing. Her heart broke.

“Great manners,” Pansy replied before grabbing the final vial. “I’m going to give you some medicine to help you sleep while we fix your arm. I’ll be here when you wake up, okay?”

“Okay,” the little girl replied, a look of trepidation on her face. She took the sleeping draught like a champ and was out like a light. Pansy let out a sigh as she ran a hand down the girl’s face.

“Can you leave her, Parkinson?” Weasley asked. Pansy shot him a glare, but gave him the benefit of not correcting him in front of the senior auror.

“I can,” Pansy replied. “Healer Davies will heal her arm while we write up our reports.”

“Lead the way, ma’am,” the old auror said, following Pansy down the hallway.

Once she gave Roger the okay to go heal the little girl, the trio was alone.

“Giordan Montague, you said?” Auror Dawlish asked as soon as they’d sat down.

“Yes, sir,” Pansy replied. “From what Talitha said, it sounds like he’s at home with a mistress.”

“The man isn’t married,” Dawlish offered. “First wife died in childbirth, that girl in there… she’s a war baby.”

“Bloody hell,” Weasley muttered, summing up everything Pansy was feeling.

War babies like Talitha were the product of heinous assaults by Voldemort’s followers, oftentimes at revels and when trying to frighten men in power. A high-powered foreign official had a daughter? She was bait. Pansy’s heart went out to whoever the girl’s mother was, and wondered why on earth she still allowed that man custody.

“That only dredges up more questions. Talitha spoke as though her mother was alive- why would she allow the girl to be with him?”

“Money, influence… many of these young women are forced to coexist with their assaulters in order to put food on the table. It’s beyond my comprehension,” Auror Dawlish said, sounding much older than he looked, which was… old. “I’m going to go file a warrant. Finish up here, Weasley, then head back to the office. Lovely to see you, Miss Moody, your old man will be proud when I tell him how well you’re doing.”

“Thank you, sir,” Pansy replied with a tight smile.

Weasley snorted as soon as the door closed. “Blimey, brings me back to conversations with my Great Aunt Muriel. All he missed was smacking a big kiss on your cheek.”

Pansy groaned, “Disgusting. At least he got my name right, unlike you.”

“Hey! You were supposed to be dead, now you change your name and act like everyone’s supposed to know.”

“You did know, you just chose not to use it.”

“I- ugh. I see why Hermione likes you with your mind game bullshit.”

“Language!” Pansy snapped, drawing another groaning of Hermione’s name under his breath. They worked in their reports in silence until Weasley tapped his wand and the parchment rolled up.

“Think I’m done here, unless you need anything else.”

“Someone should go to Hogwarts, see how her sister is doing,” Pansy replied.

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “I’ll bring it up to Dawlish, not sure that’s how we normally do it.”

Pansy huffed, “What if she’s being abused by her father too?”

“We don’t really have cause under our laws to do that, Pansy.”

“This is why America is so much better,” Pansy replied honestly, drawing a snort from the man.

“Were you always this honest?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Pansy challenged.

“Draco still misses you,” Ron offered.

Pansy straightened up, pretending she didn’t hear him. Childishly. She had no other defense.

“He misses you, and pretending you don’t hear me changes nothing. Hermione wants to be your friend, so does Luna. She’s even dating Nott, bloke’s nearly as barmy as her.”

“Noted,” Pansy replied, giving him a tight smile. That was as well as she could do.

“Say yes next time, Parkinson,” Ron said easily as he stood up. “Hermione is a bloody bull, she won’t stop ramming until she’s shattered you into pieces.”

“Also noted. Thank you for coming, Weasley.”

“Of course. Hopefully next time I see you will be under better circumstances, Moody,” Ron replied, lumbering out of the room like the 8 foot giant he grew into.

She shook her head before looking down at the pile of paperwork she had to complete. Back to work.

xxxxxxxxx

**October 15, 2000**

“Pansy, how is it going?” Hermione asked, sliding across from her with a mug of minty tea.

Pansy looked up with heavily lidded eyes, taking a large sip of her peppermint mocha. Seasons be damned, that drink was worth having year round.

“Oh you know, you missed Percy Weasley screaming at me because his daughter broke her finger after her first display of accidental magic. Up and flew out of her crib. My fault, of course.”

Hermione let out a delighted laugh. “Oh, Merlin, I wish I could’ve seen that. Molly had always hoped that Percy would end up with someone a little less… Percy than himself, but Audrey is his perfect match. Same side of the same coin.”

“You’re telling me. Stupid bint asked if she could see my credentials. Thankfully Mrs. and Mr. Weasley arrived and settled them down. They’ve dealt with much worse, clearly, what with Ron being repeatedly dropped on the head.”

Pansy was pleased to see Hermione laugh before she could stop herself.

“He told me he saw you and was a bit of a prick. But he’s right… Draco misses you.”

“Granger, honestly… not now. I was actually going to ask you for advice on wizarding law, don’t make me regret it.”

The muggleborn’s eyes lit up. “Oh, please! Don’t dangle that and take it away. Pretend I never mentioned him.”

“What are the laws surrounding child welfare?”

“I wish I could ask you for more specificity on your line of questioning, but laws are so shit I don’t have to. Only if a child is killed in a suspicious manner is the Wizengamot called in to reevaluate custody of other children who may still be in those parents’ custody.”

“So if a child is abused, there’s nothing to do?” Pansy asked incredulously. Not that she’d gone to anyone as a child when her dad was beating the shit out of her while her drunk of a mum watched on, of course.

Hermione shook her head sadly, “No. Draco says that there are so few cases of abuse even reported that it’s not worth it to work up legislation.”

“Reported is very different from taking place,” Pansy exclaimed. “This won’t do at all.”

“That’s the spirit!” Hermione nodded. “I’m working on house elf legislation with Draco and Harry, it’s not so bad. I believe in you.”

Pansy smiled, fonder than she’d let Hermione see previously. “You could be a Disney princess, Granger. You’ve really missed your calling.”

“Break is almost over, but you’ll need to tell me how you know what Disney is next time I see you. And thank you, I’ll take the compliment even though I’ve always found princesses slightly too needy. I’m my own woman, you know?”

“I know,” Pansy replied with the shake of her head. “I know.”

**October 20, 2000**

Pansy was enveloped in a tight hug as she walked into Hogwarts, causing her to draw her wand before she heard the voice of her assailant.

“My girl! It’s been far too long,” Albus Dumbledore sang, his long beard tickling Pansy’s forehead.

“Albus,” Pansy replied with a smile. Despite her da’s reprimanding, she refused to call the old man by an honorific after he’d sent her into a cave only to watch him almost die. For a horcrux that wasn’t even there. That was after he lived through whatever horcrux tried to kill him due to Severus’ potions prowess. The man cost her precious years of her life with his insane schemes and in turn it cost him her propriety when addressing him. She knew he secretly liked the familiarity, anyways.

“Thanks for rolling out the red carpet, I feel quite special,” Pansy teased.

“No way would I send anyone else to greet you, my dear,” the man promised, blue eyes twinkling brightly. “Let’s go up to my office, we’ll be met there by a few heads of houses who are particularly interested in this conversation.”

Pansy nodded, listening as the man went on and on and on about the new year at Hogwarts. By the time they’d reached his office, she was no longer nervous about her proposal. Though she didn’t think it was purposeful rambling, she was grateful for the old man’s ability to talk until she was no longer able to think.

“After you,” Albus gestured gallantly, letting her head down the steps to where Severus and Professor McGonagall already sat and quietly conversed.

“Behind you sir,” Pansy heard a voice call out, but she was already halfway down the stairs.

By the time she’d realized it was Neville bloody Longbottom, she was already seated on the couch Dumbledore had stuffed into his office to fit more people. Meaning Longbottom would be sat right next to her.

“Pansy,” the boy, no, man, said as he stepped into the room. She was surprised by the way he gently hauled her to her feet, squeezing her against his very fit, very large body. He only pulled back at Severus’ loud, pointed cough.

“Longbottom,” Pansy greeted, wishing she still had her short bob if only for a moment so she could have certainty that her hair was still perfect.

“Sorry about that,” he smiled with perfect teeth, looking anything but apologetic. “She saved my life, you know.”

“She saved all of our lives, my boy,” Albus said merrily, popping a lemon drop into his mouth. “And it seems she’s here to save more. Lemon drop, anyone?”

“Will you stop asking?” Severus huffed, rolling his eyes.

“When will you realize he won’t stop, Severus?” Minerva retorted, looking the same strict, stately witch that Pansy remembered. The woman still caused her to be nervous, no matter her age.

“Well, why don’t we start? There’s no need for introductions, but I do bring the regards of Professors Flitwick and Sprout for being unable to join due to their class schedule. Mr. Longbottom here is set to take over for our beloved retiring Professor Sprout at the turn of the semester. A bit unorthodox, but we are proud to welcome him to the staff. The students are relieved to see such a young, handsome face, especially one with such great abilities!”

“Albus,” Pansy scoffed, shaking her head at his weird description of the Gryffindor.

“I’d only apologize if it weren’t true, my dear,” Albus said with a wink. “Now, before I veer off track, what brings you here?”

“Yes,” Pansy nodded, pulling out the one-pager Hermione had helped her craft in the wee hours of the previous night. The witch was more than delighted to accept Pansy’s hesitant invitation over to her home. She’d even, to her credit, made pleasant conversation with Pansy’s da when he’d shown up from his shift.

Once the sheets of parchment were distributed, she sat silently with only the rustle of parchment in her ears. Patience was not her friend, but she tried to employ it.

“Everyone finished?” She asked after a few minutes, receiving nods in return. Severus gave her a tiny smile that she recognized as fond encouragement.

“Why don’t you explain what you’re proposing in your own words?” Dumbledore asked, ever the teacher.

“Of course,” Pansy replied. “I work in pediatrics at St. Mungo’s, and we are the frontline for fielding potential child abuse cases in our community. While cases of abuse are low, that’s because they’re not reported. There’s currently no mechanism of legal action provided by wizarding law, so children are just sent home to the same parents they’d just reported as harming them. Or a child is sent back to the same parent that their other parent had reported as abusive. At Hogwarts, there are so many students who are suffering in silence. They come back from holidays bruised and banged up, and no one notices... and even if a professor or another student notices, there's nothing to do to remove them from the situation they're in. I’m not here to blame anyone; I’m here to seek your support for Wizengamot legislation on the matter.”

“What are you proposing to the Wizengamot?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“Merlin knows that any semblance of change in the chamber requires years of debate. I am making this easy for them; we don’t have years to wait, not with what I’ve seen at Mungos. The proposal, not yet named, will institute DMLE authority to question parental guardians and siblings if a case of potential abuse comes to light, whether at the hospital, Hogwarts or elsewhere. Any cases of abuse that warrant a further look will be brought before the Wizengamot. Parental rights will be revoked if warranted, and the children will be placed with either relatives or Ministry approved adults... what the muggles call foster care. The overarching point is to institute a Department of Child Welfare at the Ministry that would work alongside pediatrics at Mungo’s. We need our law enforcement and health professionals working together in order to make this work. It’s what the muggles do, and it’s what we should be doing.”

“Well thought through, my dear,” Albus commended, crossing his hands and resting his chin on them.

“How would Hogwarts staff be educated on how to help?” Neville asked.

Pansy gave him a grateful look against her will- it was a good question.

“Good question, Longbottom. Much like muggles, we’d institute a yearly course to be led by an expert on child abuse along with an auror and healer working for the Department of Child Welfare.”

“There are experts on child abuse?” the man asked, his handsome face screwed up into a horrified expression.

“Many, unfortunately. I met a squib in the states who’s actually a foremost expert on child welfare, she’s who I have in mind to help out with the course.”

“Even if the useless chamber doesn’t take up this legislation, we should institute this course,” Severus said. Pansy gave him a small smile, and let what they were both thinking go unsaid... if their professors were informed, they might prevent anyone else from suffering the way they had.

“Too right, Severus,” Dumbledore replied. “For now, I think I speak for all of us when I say that Hogwarts is fully behind this proposal. What comes next?”

Pansy looked down and took a breath. Why was she so surprised that she’d succeeded?

“Thank you for your support. Next, I’ll need to find a member of the Wizengamot to sponsor the legislation. Preferably a more senior member who can get it to the floor quickly and swing votes.”

“My nan,” Neville offered, drawing surprised eyebrows from around the room. “What? You think she wouldn’t champion injured children?”

“You know we love your nan, Neville,” McGonagall replied with an eye roll. “She never sponsors legislation- she has said multiple times that it means she’ll need to talk to the other idiots in the Wizengamot.”

Even Severus had to hide a laugh at that.

“Idiots or not, some of them have surely covered up child abuse at some point. She’ll be more than happy to take them down.”

“Thank you,” Pansy replied with a small, yet grateful smile.

“Tied up neatly with a bow!” Dumbledore exclaimed. “Mr. Longbottom, why don’t you show Miss Moody to the kitchens? There’s a special someone waiting there for her.”

Pansy’s eyes bulged open in a way that she knew was extremely unattractive.

“Paley?” She asked, hope in her voice.

“You will have to see, some anticipation is good for the soul every once in a while.”

“Thank you all for your time,” Pansy replied, squinting at the headmaster and swallowing a hiss at the way his eyes twinkled. Meddling old man.

The room was quiet except for the clop of the pair’s feet as they walked up the steps, a gallant Neville holding open the door for Pansy.

“I thought that was you at the battle,” Neville said casually, his hands shoved into the pockets of his well-tailored trousers. He was wearing a white button down and dark blue trousers that were far nicer than anything she’d ever seen him wear. Looked like he was finally putting the Longbottom fortune to use.

“How’d you figure?”

“You remembered our conversation, and I remembered our conversation.”

Pansy bit down a comment about his memory getting better since the remembrall debacle of first year.

“How are you?” Neville asked, throwing out another line of conversation without sounding desperate. Pansy liked it.

“I’m well,” Pansy replied, eyes focused on her leather booties. “Hours are long, but I think that’s a shared problem.”

“I would say that at least your hours aren’t filled with kids, but it seems that would be untrue,” he smiled.

“Why Hogwarts?” Pansy asked. She would never say she blurted something out, but… she blurted it out.

“It’s the only place I’ve ever felt encouraged to grow into myself,” Neville replied easily. “Now more than ever, I think students need that same encouragement. The greenhouses don’t hurt either.”

“I never knew you excelled at Herbology.”

“No one ever asked, honestly. The man polyjuiced as your da did, though,” Neville said with a laugh.

“What?”

“Crouch, he pulled me aside after that first class where he forced me to watch as he crucioed a spider. Gave me a litany of books on plants and healing… the rest was history.”

Pansy had honestly forgotten about the debacle of fourth year. Their hoodwinking professor was second of mind to Draco ruining Yule Ball. She’d been beaten within an inch of her life when she’d returned home that summer without hide nor hair of a betrothal agreement from Draco. She should’ve stuck with the handsome Durmstrang who’d asked her, honestly, but her bleeding heart had her accepting Draco’s begging request to join him after he couldn’t find a date.

“I’m glad that psycho didn’t kill you,” Pansy replied with the shake of her head. They’d reached the staircases and she hesitated before asking him for help. “Do you mind letting me know when we’re good to move? No depth perception, though I’m sure I’d be able to tell when my face smashes into the floor.”

Neville swallowed a laugh at her deprecating joke. “Can’t have that, I’ll be fired before I even start. Good to go.”

Pansy was grateful that he didn’t offer his hand to her as they hopped on the first flight of stairs. She had one eye, but she wasn’t inept.

“Thank you,” Pansy replied, allowing an uncharacteristic amount of warmth into her voice.

“You have a new set of friends we’ve never met, Pansy? Hermione seems to think you do, if her whinging is anything to say about how many times she’s asked you to come out with us.”

“Ugh,” Pansy groaned. “I’ve never had a pet, but I think she’s bloody close.”

Neville’s laugh echoed through the empty stairwell, filling her stomach with warmth. “Aw, give her a bone, Pansy. Just come out once, you can leave whenever you want.”

“I’m not sure going out is in my plans for the next year,” she replied honestly.

Neville grabbed her elbow lightly, pulling her off the stairs once they reached the correct floor. He let go immediately, not quickly like he couldn’t stand to touch her, but with a softness she didn’t deserve.

“We stay in too,” he shrugged, much too amenable to her grouching. “I’m sure Hermione would do anything you want.”

“I’ll think about it, Longbottom.”

“Neville, Pansy. I reckon we’re at a place you can call me Neville.”

Pansy looked up at the man. Though she was unsure of what he saw when he looked at her, she smiled.

xxxxxxxxx

Alastor Moody was completely baffled to find his daughter and a lime green house elf laying under a blanket on his beloved couch, holding each other through tears as they watched some movie.

“Pansy?” he asked slowly, drawing his primary wand out of its sheath.

“Da!” she exclaimed, facing wearing a beaming expression he’d only seen openly a handful of times. “This is Paley, she’s moved in.”

“Oh, Master Alastor! It’s Paley’s pleasure to serve you,” the elf squeaked without moving from under the blankets.

Swallowing down a comment on whether or not the elf was truly honored to serve when she kept on taking up precious space on his couch, he nodded. His girl had so few things that she found truly exciting; he’d let her have this and his television. With a nod, he turned and grabbed his cloak before apparating out once more. There was a rugby game and pint with his name on them.

**October 28, 2000**

“Pansy!” Hermione greeted, eyes just the wrong side of maniacal.

“Granger,” the shorter brunette greeted, accepting the squeezing hug her colleague offered.

“Welcome! Not that this is my house, but… welcome.”

“This is a Black property, no? I think my mother brought me here when I was little.”

“Yes, it was Sirius’ childhood home, he left it to Harry. Thankfully he’s ripped out essentially every surface and added enough windows to make it livable, but it was a real mess before.”

“The Blacks are all bonkers, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Not all Blacks,” a voice that Pansy hadn’t heard in years said in a tone that clearly carried none of the levity it wanted to.

“Draco,” Pansy said with a nod, turning to look at him for the first time since the Battle at Hogwarts.

“Pansy,” he replied, eyes misty in a way that would’ve had her laughing under different circumstances. It was clear that the emotional Gryffindors he surrounded himself with had left their mark.

“The downstairs conservatory is open if you want to talk,” Hermione said before walking away.

Pansy followed Draco down the hall for a conversation she’d only pictured occurring one thousand ways. None of them being in Potter’s home.

“You look… better,” Draco said suddenly.

Pansy let out a bark of laughter that was far too loud in the tense room. She sat down on a fluffy armchair that faced outside, the London skyline far off, but visible.

“I reckon anything is better than how I looked last time we saw each other.”

“I saw you at the bottom of the stairs. Dumbledore explained it all after the war, but… you looked dead,” Draco said quietly, his eyes haunted.

“That was the point. I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant.”

“Pleasant isn’t the word I’d use to describe anything that happened to us growing up, Pans. And clearly my behavior only exacerbated that for you. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t, please… just don’t.”

Draco looked up with an incredulous look on her face. “I can’t not apologize for what I’ve done- do you know how much it’s haunted me? To think I was the reason you killed yourself? Then, for the past two years, to think that I ruined your life out of self-preservation?”

“You didn’t ruin my life, Draco!” Pansy yelled back, strongly reminded of the blowout arguments they’d have as students in the confines of a warded room. “If you think losing an eye and a finger is akin to ruining my life, you are a bigger idiot than I thought.”

“You’re strong, Pansy. You always were, and you just shielded it with nail polish and hair flipping. But that doesn’t change that I was cause for you to have been tortured.”

“Have been, Draco. Have been. Past tense. It’s over. Years past. I’m healed physically and living a life I can be proud of for once. I can’t say I’m happy to see you or even feel strongly to let you back into my life. Just give me the space that I need, okay?”

“Of course, Pansy. Anything you need,” Draco replied, looking repentant enough that Pansy wanted to slash his face with her clear-coated nails. How dare he look like he’s the one who suffered through this?

“I appreciate it,” she said, standing up. Draco stood awkwardly despite having grown into his lanky body and developed muscle, clearly not knowing whether or not to go into a hug. Pansy flourished a hand towards him, waiting for him to guide her out and make it clear she didn’t want him to touch her. Whether it was because she wanted him to feel punished or she’d break into pieces if he held her, she didn’t know.

“It’s a small group tonight, Hermione kept to her promise. Feel free to leave whenever, I know how overwhelming a group of Gryffindors can be.”

Not realizing how close to the room everyone was housed in, Pansy let some of her ire out at her oldest friend. Regardless of how much time had passed, that comfortability still remained.

“What is with grown adults classifying people and letting them off for their actions simply because of where a stupid hat put them as an 11-year-old? There were only four choices! You think everyone on the bloody planet can be cleanly divided into four houses?”

“Hell yeah, Pansy!” Ron Weasley called out from where they’d ended up, lifting a beer in a mock salute. She hadn’t realized that she had, indeed, walked into the lion's den. It was clear that Potter hadn’t designed anything in his house, especially this tasteful room.

The furniture was all black with grey accents throughout the room, including a large rectangular table that had comfortable looking bean bags around it.

“That’s the spirit of this group, isn’t it?” Luna said lightly, smiling at the peck she received on her temple from a still lanky, still unfairly handsome Theodore Nott. “We’ve all come together with our own awful habits and personality traits, both lovely and ugly, to form a union. The hat should see us now.”

“Too right, Luna!” a bright and shiny Hermione said, a glass of water in her hand. She looked antsy to move to her husband’s side, and Pansy wouldn’t be one to get in her way. Without looking around and making eye contact, she moved into the room and tripped on a low-booted heel.

“Wotcher,” a familiar voice called gently before two giant hands gripped her upper arms.

Losing an eye wasn’t that intense in terms of a difference in her vision, but she was still struggling with the loss of depth perception and solid peripheral vision. She had to turn her head to see what was happening on her right side, meaning she often wouldn’t do it. It was hard to break her habits of portraying the stoic, unfeeling girl, but she was trying her best.

“Thanks,” Pansy replied quietly, cheeks flushing as she thought of someone watching her stumble slightly. She knew that in every conversation she had, people’s eyes would be automatically drawn to her glass eye. The prosthesis’ pupil was the same colour as her eye, a light blue that looked like the sky on a cloudless day. But it didn’t take a smart person to notice that the eye didn’t track motion. While she didn’t mind answering her young patients’ innocent questions about her missing finger or eye, she did mind the slack-jawed stares of her former classmates and whatever rude adults decided to look at her like she was an eight-armed hippogriff.

“I’m glad you came,” Neville replied, sweeping her faux pas under the rug in a way she was extremely grateful for.

“Figured I’d rip it off like a bandaid,” she replied.

“A what?” he asked with a furrowed brow that should not make him look good. It did.

She flicked her hand, “Muggle thing.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know about muggle things?” he asked, looking extremely interested.

“Can we sit? My feet are close to falling off after my shift,” she replied.

“Of course we can,” Neville said, guiding her to a pair of unoccupied armchairs in the corner of the room. “I may suggest wearing different shoes, then, if your feet hurt.”

Pansy let out a surprised laugh, “Beauty is pain, Longbottom. I wear sensible enough shoes on the job and they don’t help, so I figure I’ll look good elsewhere and still end up in pain.”

“I’m sure you’d still look good in your work shoes,” the man replied, his eye contact far too intense for giving her a compliment and not knowing how it’d land. Who replaced the bumbling boy with a confident man? Pansy had so many questions.

“Not quite, lime green doesn’t do my skin well.”

“I wouldn’t guess it does anyone’s skin well. Now, back to it… muggle things?”

“I lived with a half-blood family in America while I attended Healing School. Their daughter Aya is a squib and attended muggle school, I learned more than anyone needs to know.”

“Where in America?”

“Boston, it’s on the northeast side of the country. Big city where their Ilvermorny School of Healing Arts is located.”

“I’m sure you learned a lot,” Neville replied. “Funny how we can learn more outside of the classroom sometimes, yeah?”

Pansy nodded. “America is bonkers to begin with, so learning muggle concepts gave me a headache for the first few weeks. I loved it, though.”

“Then why’d you move back?”

“To be closer to my d- Moody,” she replied, shaking her head slightly at her slip.

“You can call him your da,” Neville said with a soft smile. “I think it’s cute.”

Pansy snapped with squinted eyes, “Nothing I do is cute.”

“That’s completely false. I hate to say it, but you’re borderline adorable.”

Pansy looked down, running a hand through her hair and hoping that Longbottom would just go away.

“I like your hair like that,” Neville offered, clearly enjoying her suffering. “Makes you look more like a person.”

The girl laughed despite herself. “What’s that even mean?”

“At school you were like… a robot. Short hair, tailored robes, nice fingernails. Nothing to make you unique.”

“Some of us were just trying to live another day, Longbottom. Uniqueness wasn’t really at the top of my priorities list.”

“I’m glad it can be now,” he replied. “Call me Neville.”

Before Pansy could reply, they were interrupted by two people she couldn’t really say she had any interest in talking to.

“Hey, Parkinson,” Potter greeted, one hand in his khakis and the other gripping a beer.

“It’s Moody,” her and Neville replied at the same time. She liked the way he blushed when she sent an appreciative smile his way.

The boy wonder groaned, “Okay, Hermione. Rewind… hey Moody, welcome to my house.”

Pansy raised a brow and noticed the girl Weasley doing the same out of the corner of her eye.

“Thanks for the warm welcome, Potter.” she said drily.

“He’s just a grumpy arse, don’t mind him,” Ginny replied with a soft smile. “I’m Ginny, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Pleasure,” Pansy replied with a nod that she hoped would be classified as warm.

“Malfoy said you’d been here before,” the girl replied. “I hope you can appreciate my hard work to update the decor.”

“Elf heads and screaming bints are my decor of choice, actually, so I’m a bit disappointed in your reno.”

Ginny snorted, “Merlin, the elf heads. Did you know that the Black family has a ceremonial knife that has only ever been used to chop elf heads off?”

“The Parkinsons had one too,” she replied with a shiver. “When I found out what it was for, I begged one of our elves to take it where it’d never be found. Mother was livid.”

“Just a regular SPEW girl, aren’t you P-Moody?” Potter replied with an appraising look.

“Really? It’s S.P.E.W, Harry!” Hermione shouted from across the room before shaking her head like a brilliant idea had just popped into it. “Oh, how could I forget!”

“This isn’t good,” Harry muttered, eyes glancing over to Hermione nervously as she strided over.

“Professor Snape told me that you loved elves, Pansy,” Hermione said in an excited, yet quiet tone. To their credit, no one came closer to the quintet despite their curious glances.

“I’m not joining your club, Granger,” Pansy replied, drawing snickers out of Neville, Harry, and Ginny.

“Aim higher, Pansy! We’re taking on the Wizengamot,” Hermione said brightly.

“You’re,” Pansy corrected.

She shook her head. “We’re. Theo’s introducing the bill next week!”

Pansy shot a surprised look over to the pureblood in question. He was currently wrapped around Luna’s back while she drew odd patterns over his fingertips with what looked to be a bright blue stone.

“Theo’s a real champ, isn’t he?” Ron called out.

“Really, Ron?” Hermione replied, clearly annoyed. “Anyways, sorry to throw it on you here, but Draco mentioned you might be a solid witness testimony when it comes up in front of the Wizengamot. We need someone who grew up around elves and can speak to the abuse they undergo.”

“I don’t think so,” Pansy replied, shaking her head. The last thing she wanted to do was be cross-examined.

“Think about all of those cute faces,” Neville chimed in, a genuine look of wonder on his face. “They all love you, I saw it firsthand.”

Pansy took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Hermione beamed. “Oh, thank you! We’ll convene next week to go over details.”

“Oh how the mighty snakes have fallen,” Harry mumbled, shaking his head at the Slytherins around the room who’d been recruited for his longest friend’s various causes.

“Sounds like a plan,” Pansy replied in a voice that was much kinder than she felt capable of. “Do you not offer drinks to guests at your get togethers?”

Harry had the decency to blush. “What can I get you?”

“Water, please,” Pansy replied with a shiny smile.

“You lot are terrifying,” Neville said with the shake of his head.

“You act like your nan isn’t more terrifying than all of us combined,” Ginny retorted. “She’s even worse than my mum.”

“She’s not that bad now,” Neville replied with a shrug. “All it took was an AK to the Lestrange brothers to get her back to rights, but I’m not judging.”

Pansy smiled to herself at that, thinking about how a killing curse of her own had given her the comfort she needed to move on with her life. Her da had been present for Rowle’s kiss, promising her that the man was good as dead.

Despite herself, she looked up at Draco whose jaw was clenched at the mention of his sort-of relatives.

Luna, being Luna, cut through the tension in the room. “You have more blibbering humdingers floating around you than normal, Ron. New woman in your life?”

The redhead auror turned a ghastly shade of tomato, ignoring the smirk that Theo was sending to him over Luna’s head. She may be a Ravenclaw, but Luna’s Slytherin tendencies - purposeful or not - were impressive.

“Same as always,” Ron replied.

“You’re lying,” Draco replied, a smirk on his face. “Who is she?”

“Shove off,” Ron replied, jumping down from the table he was perched on to head back over to the bar cart and grab a fresh beer.

“Who is she?” Draco asked again, looking all too gleeful at the prospect of goading Ron. Looked like friendship didn’t change that aspect of their relationship.

“Tell me it isn’t Lavender,” Harry replied in a hesitant voice.

“No! Of course not, just… shove off. I’ll tell you when I’m ready, yeah?” Ron promised in a voice that seemed really vulnerable, even to Pansy who knew she was an outsider.

“Of course,” Hermione replied with a smile for Ron and a hard look for her husband and Harry.

“Sorry to cause a tussle, Ron,” Luna said apologetically, her expression as serene as ever. “The humdingers are plentiful and joyful, it’s quite a sight.”

The boy blushed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Everyone ready to watch the movie?” Ginny asked, giving her brother a break from the probing.

“Finally!” Draco called, heading out the door and off to an unknown location.

“What movie?” Pansy asked quietly, grateful that Neville wasn’t rude like all of the others who’d left like she knew exactly where they were heading.

“It’s this animated musical about Halloween and Christmas. Hermione’s big on movies in the lead up to holidays.”

“I saw it in theatres,” Pansy replied with a smile.

Neville gave her a probing look, “You are a wonderful surprise, Pansy.”

She couldn’t help but smile back.


	4. Chapter 4

“Pansy!” Hermione shrieked, skidding around the corner of the pediatric ward like a member of the Mystery Gang.

“May I help you?” Pansy asked with a raised brow, her arms folding around her chest far less effective with a clipboard in hand.

“They’ve scheduled hearings for both the elves and child welfare! Harry said that Lady Longbottom and Theo double-teamed it, they’re hearing testimony next week,” the curly haired girl exclaimed, eyes wide and already slightly manic.

Pansy tried to process what she was being told. “Next week?!”

“Next week. Oh, Merlin… we have so much to do! I hope you don’t have any plans because I am cancelling all of them! What were they thinking, putting everything together on one day? I’ll kill Kingsley.”

“I don’t think you should talk about killing the Minister in a public place, Hermione,” Pansy whispered back, eyes darting around the room. She already faced enough scrutiny from those with solid enough memories to know who she was, she didn’t need to be an accomplice to Hermione’s crime.

“It’s fine, I’ll tell him the same to his face next time I see him!”

“So uncouth,” Pansy groaned, shaking her head as she realized she was supposed to be seeing a patient.

“Where are you going?” Hermione called, skittering down the hall to catch up with Pansy.

“I have to see another little Weasley with a broken arm unless you’d like to tell Molly that your life is more important?”

“Bye, I was never here!” Hermione did an about face, booking it out of the hallway at the mere mention of Molly Weasley. Pansy wished she could as well.

xxx

“Who knew you were Dumbledore’s favourite all along?” Draco asked with a laugh, shaking his head as they walked towards the library. “Potter’ll be shitting himself.”

“Disgusting,” Pansy and Hermione reprimanded at the same time before sharing twin smirks.

“Even Snape hugs her,” Neville offered with a smile and a wink as Pansy turned to him, betrayed.

“Pansy Moody, what a woman of mystery,” Theo mused.

“You’re all awful,” Pansy sighed.

“Tell us why Dumbledore looked at you like you’re the second coming of Merlin and we’ll stop,” Draco promised. 

Pansy just sighed again, icing Draco out in a way she would’ve never done as a girl. Hermione had her hands full with him.

She was surprised when Neville pulled out her chair in the empty library, a small smile on his face as he nodded towards the seat.

“Thanks, Neville,” she said without a blush on her face. She certainly wouldn’t be blushing over such a routine show of propriety, would she?

“Of course, Pans,” he replied. No one missed the diminutive, but thankfully no one said anything. Hermione would reward Draco later for his tact.

“Let me see…” Hermione muttered, digging through a hideous bag.

“What is that?” Pansy gasped, mouth curled up at the sight of such a disgusting, tacky sequined bag.

“My bag,” Hermione replied, as though it was normal to stick a hand halfway to China in what should’ve been a tiny clutch.

“It has an illegal extension charm on it, carried our lives back when we were on the run,” Draco replied. “I would’ve bought her a nicer bag if I knew she’d be breaking laws and forcing me to look at it every day.”

Pansy just nodded, still uncomfortable with the mention of the war. This wasn’t the time for that conversation. Honestly, she’d be fine if they never had the conversation she knew all of them were itching to lay on the table.

“There! I figured we’d start with elves… Neville, were you able to find one willing to speak?”

The man next to Pansy nodded, “I found a few, actually… bloody messed up, really, with how many had been abused before coming to Hogwarts. I wrote some notes, we can summon whichever ones you think are the most compelling witnesses.”

Hermione speed read whatever Neville had given her.

“This is brilliant, Neville! Your note taking has come so far.”

Theo snorted.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Neville replied, looking far too amused as he met Pansy’s eyeline.

Much to her surprise, she held his gaze until he looked away at a question from Theo.

Her stomach was warm at the knowledge that Neville wasn’t disgusted by her; no, if she was a crazy woman, she’d say he looked far from disgusted.

xxx

Pansy was both relieved and dismayed to find out how quickly a week could pass when preparing for two Wizengamot hearings simultaneously. As she smoothed her skirt for the millionth time, tapping one heeled foot on the ground, Hermione’s hand gently grabbed her own.

“Everything’s going to go well, Pansy. We’re prepared, we have witnesses, we have a majority Wizengamot members already on our side. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Pansy swallowed the lump that was growing in her throat, unwilling to show weakness in front of Hermione.

“And you, Pansy Moody? You’re your own woman. A healer on your own merit, a loyal friend to people and elves. Anyone who chooses to see you as the girl they once knew or a last name you were born with is an idiot and beneath you. You’re more than anyone has ever given you credit for, and I’m proud to call you a friend.”

“Stop crying!” Pansy chastised, though both girls could clearly see the tears falling from her good eye.

“I love you,” Hermione exclaimed earnestly, giving her friend a tight hug. “Who would’ve thought that’d ever be the case?”

“Not in my dizziest daydreams,” Pansy replied honestly, making Hermione laugh. “Stay still, let me fix your makeup before they think we were meant to visit the clown department and not the Wizengamot.”

“It’s been months and you still haven’t shared how you know so much about muggles.”

“After we pass our laws,” Pansy promised. “Draco will pay for expensive liquor and I’ll share whatever you want to know.”

“His money is mine now!”

“I rather like the image of emptying Draco’s coffers, but sure, Granger. I’ll spend your galleons too.”

With the mood lightened, it only took a few more minutes for a Wizengamot page to come grab them, the teenager giving Hermione a reverent, yet fearful look. Better her than Pansy, she thought.

“The Wizengamot recognizes Hermione Malfoy and Pansy Moody as witnesses in today’s dual hearings of W.R. 91024, Dobby’s Law, and the revision of W.R. 21920, the Child Welfare Act,” said Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, his voice rumbling through the cold chamber. Only members were allowed since it was a closed session, and Pansy felt nervous at the number of eyes on her. “We’ve heard from our three elf witnesses as well as members of our chamber who have provided compelling testimony for the passage of Dobby’s Law. I request a vote on this bill without further delay. Mr. Weasley, please tally the yays and nays.”

Pansy shared a look with Hermione from the bench they’d been shown to.

“They don’t need our testimony, it’s going to pass,” Hermione whispered, voice much quieter than Pansy had ever heard.

“Dobby’s Law passes the Wizengamot with a vote of 37-3.” The Minister bellowed after Percy Weasley whispered the final vote in his ear.

Harry started a round of applause, receiving dark looks from a few of the older, surlier members at the noise that sounded around the chamber.

“Next order of business is Lady Longbottom’s petition to revise the Child Welfare Act, last updated in March of 1901. I grant myself as much time as I may require for questioning and call Miss Pansy Moody to the stand.”

Pansy followed the same nervous boy from before up to the table and sat directly in the center of the chamber, allowing her to see the entirety of the governing body of Britain’s wizarding world.

“Thank you for joining us, Miss Moody. In her testimony, Lady Longbottom shared that you were the impetus for updating this legislation. Can you share why?”

Pansy nodded, grateful to be sitting. Her voice trembled a bit as she started, but she’d rehearsed her answer so many times that there was no way she’d screw this up.

“Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt and Wizengamot members for inviting me to speak today. My name is Pansy Moody and I’m a healer at St. Mungo’s where I work in the pediatric ward. Working with children is rewarding, but it also means serving the most vulnerable among us, oftentimes those without the means or ability to vocalize their needs. 

“As it stands, our law recognizes parents as arbiters of good. There are no statutes in the only law regarding child welfare in our entire government that grant Hogwarts, St. Mungo’s or the DMLE with a power to question parents or remove children from their custody. Simply put, we’re letting children fall through the cracks because they know that speaking out against their parents will only cause them more injury. We’re allowing children to be harmed without recourse; the DMLE is charged with the power to protect and defend all witches and wizards in our society, but children are somehow left out of this equation. Without a change in laws, the pediatric ward will continue to see cases of terrified children who have to go home with the same parents who broke their arm. Without a change in laws, the well-meaning professors and mediwitch at Hogwarts will only be able to shrug at students who confide in them about what’s happening in their homes. Without a change in laws, another generation of students will suffer in silence, knowing that learning healing charms and how to lock their doors is the best way they can survive.”

The chamber was quiet for a moment.

“Why did you go into pediatric healing?” the Minister asked.

Pansy took a breath, knowing what was required of her. The greater good was mostly shit, but in this case? Maybe her sacrifice was worth it.

“My born surname is Parkinson,” Pansy wasn’t surprised to hear silence; no member of the Wizengamot was inept enough not to know exactly who she was. “My childhood was not the easiest, but I know that what occurred under the Parkinson roof was not unique to our family. My poise was learned under threat of my mother’s wand and my father’s belt. The way I floated as I walked was due to the welts my mother hexed on the bottom of my feet before every event.

Pansy’s trembling breath was heard throughout the room before she spoke next. “I… I was overlooked. Every bruise I came to Hogwarts with was ignored; my emaciated body was glanced over. When Voldemort commanded his followers to remove my eye and slice off my finger for the mistakes of my father and others, my mother told me it was an honour to sacrifice for the cause. I showed up to Hogwarts for my sixth year with the small roll of gauze that one of the Parkinson elves risked death to sneak me. My professors forced me to remove my sunglasses and gave me Trolls on essays that I couldn’t write with an infected finger and disfigured hand. I hallucinated one night from my infection, and with my training I now know I was closer to death than I thought possible. Professor Snape dressed my wounds and staged my death alongside Headmaster Dumbledore. They knew that there was no recourse against the Parkinsons; I was solely their concern as an underaged girl, and would’ve been tortured to death if I wasn’t removed.

“They saved my life, but they broke the law. How can we weigh childrens’ health as less than an archaic law? How can children ever truly be safe without well-meaning, unaffiliated adults to advocate for them? That’s why I went into healing. To save children from the same fate that I was subjected to.”

Dumbledore smiled softly from where he sat to the Minister’s left, and Pansy could tell how proud he was. If she were less prickly, Pansy would have already voiced just how grateful she was for the way he saved her life. Thankfully, she knew he knew. He always did.

“That’s… thank you, Miss Moody. I open up the chamber to any questions pertaining to the revision of the law.”

“The revision Lady Longbottom has submitted includes a provision for DMLE authority in cases of suspected child abuse. Can you explain what this means, in your own words?” Ryker Davies, an elected member of the chamber asked.

“Good question, sir. A lot of our proposal has been taken from laws in the muggle world, specifically in the United States where I received my post-secondary education. Throughout the entire country, muggle aurors or police officers, are granted the authority to interview parents, siblings, and teachers or professors if they suspect a child’s welfare is in danger. Departments in larger cities normally have a child welfare division as well that specializes in such cases. We are specifically recommending that the DMLE appointed specific officers to make up a newly-created Department of Child Welfare, and they will be granted the authority to interrogate guardians and siblings and recommend a child’s removal from a home.

“Parental rights will be revoked if warranted, and children will be placed with either relatives or Ministry approved adults. The overarching point of this revision is to institute a Department of Child Welfare at the Ministry that would work alongside pediatrics at Mungo’s. We need our law enforcement and health professionals working together in order to keep our most vulnerable safe. It’s what the muggles do, and it’s what we should be doing.”

“How do you define Ministry approved adults?” Dedalus Diggle asked.

“Drawing from muggles, they have something that they call foster care. These are adults who are approved by the government to take in children at a moment’s notice with the express understanding that they won’t be adopting the children. Headmaster Dumbledore has expressed interest in leading the board charged with interviewing potential foster parents.”

“Quite right, Miss Moody. The Hogwarts staff along with Miss Moody has held four meetings so far, and the entirety of the school’s faculty supports this proposal without reservation.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Shacklebolt said, nodding deferentially at the older man. “Any other questions?”

Pansy was surprised to see that the room was silent; Theo, Harry, and Draco must’ve really done their due diligence whipping votes.

“I request a vote on this bill without further delay. Mr. Weasley, please tally the yays and nays.”

Pansy looked down at her lap, unable to chance looking.

“The yays are 40 and the nays are 0. By a unanimous vote, the revision to the Child Welfare Act is passed.”

“Yes!” Harry shouted, drawing headshakes from some of the older members of the chamber. The boy’s lack of propriety knew no end, but for once, Pansy appreciated it. She had to hide her beaming smile, hope surging through her at the knowledge that the next generation of children wouldn’t know the same darkness that she, Draco, Theo and so many others were raised with.

xxx

“Three cheers for Hermione and Pansy, saviors of elves and children!” Harry shouted, raising an overflowing glass of firewhisky into the air.

“Here here!” Ron yelled back, while everyone else shook their heads at the drunken pair. Pansy needed a lot more liquor.

“Thought ya might need another glass,” Pansy’s da said gruffly, putting another glass of fancy red wine in her hands. 

“Thanks, da,” Pansy replied, a smile on her face as she leaned a hip against the wall. She watched over the lively party, full of Order of the Phoenix members.

“You good to stay?” he asked, knowing exactly how Pansy was doing.

“If Sev can stay, I can stay,” Pansy replied with a smile.

“Martyrs, the both of ya. I hate to tell you that him and Dumbledore left thirty minutes ago,” the man replied. “Longbottom.”

Pansy tried not to show her shock at the way Neville confidently walked up to the pair.

“Pansy, Auror Moody,” the Gryffindor replied, a soft smile on his face and a glass of liquor in his hands.

“Give your nan my thanks for her work, we couldn’t have done it without her,” Alastor said with more outward sincerity than Hermione was used to.

“Absolutely, sir. She’s always happy to take arms for a good cause, and we can’t think of one better. Your daughter is a special woman.”

Pansy couldn’t help the tears that formed in her eyes at what was the first time that someone had complimented her in the frame of being Alastor’s daughter. It meant more to her than Neville would ever know, and only made her more endeared to him.

“Don’t I know it. My banféinní is a one of a kind precious gem.”

“What’s that word mean?” Neville asked curiously.

“It’s Gaelic for female warrior-hunter. Nothing more fitting for my girl.”

Neville let out a delighted laugh that warmed Pansy to her core.

“From what I’ve learned, you’re right.”

Pansy tried not to groan at the way her da’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“She can kill you herself, but I’ll get to you first. And they’ll never find the body,” Auror Alastor Moody threatened, looking like the psychotic professor that Pansy remembered from fourth year.

Neville, to his credit, straightened up and looked the man straight in the eyes. “I’d kill myself before hurting your daughter, sir.”

“I’ll see to that, Longbottom. Love you, my girl. I’m leaving this hellscape while I still can,” Alastor rasped, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Love you, da,” Pansy replied. “I’ll send a message if I’m staying out.”

Neville took a deep breath as the man walked away.

“He’s more terrifying when he’s not Barty Crouch.”

Pansy snorted in an extremely embarrassing manner before she could stop it. 

“Not to poke a hole in your airtight logic, but da was never Barty Crouch. He could be terrifying if you squint, though. I can tell he liked you, for what it’s worth.”

“If that was liking me… I want him to love me.”

Pansy laughed loudly at that, drawing stares from their fellow partygoers, not that she noticed. She was fully focused on the man in front of her.

“I think his job and myself are the only things da has ever loved, but it’s a worthy goal.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Neville smiled. “Everyone said you were brilliant today, Pans… I wish I could’ve seen it.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Pansy replied with much more honesty than she was used to.

“Why?”

Pansy sighed, “Whatever you think… I’m not it. I’m broken and gnarled and grotesque and there’s no fix-it, it’s just what I’ll be for the rest of my life.”

“Pansy, you beautiful flower,” Neville sighed, an indulgent smile on his face that was nowhere close to patronizing. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m just as messed up as you are. On the inside, I’m still the rotund firstie who was desperate for friends and found themselves petrified by Hermione before that lot went off to face Voldemort the first time. No one has it all together, it’s just about finding someone who can shoulder your burdens alongside you.”

Pansy shook her head, taking a large gulp of wine. “This isn’t an episode of Full House, Neville. There’s no issue and resolution within a clean 23 minute package. My eye? It’s gone forever. My finger? Gone forever. My surly personality you currently find endearing? It’s not going to change. I’m not putting up walls that you can tear down. What you see is what you get.”

Neville reached a confident hand out, intertwining his fingers with Pansy’s own. To his satisfaction and Pansy’s terror, she didn’t pull her hand back.

“I have no idea what Full House is, but I can speak to what I know. There’s no such thing as love at first sight, but there is such a thing as growing together. All I’m asking is that you don’t say no before we try.”

“What do you want from me?” Pansy asked. Uncertain and resigned, she looked into his light blue eyes.

“A chance.”

Pansy could only nod, knees feeling weak in relief as Neville pulled her into a tight hug. The way he covered her was a protection she’d desired shamefully. One she’d always questioned why she didn’t receive. Not from her birth father, not from her brother, not from Draco. Loving protection was the one natural phenomenon that she’d always wanted but never received. Now, with Neville, it felt natural and so so special. He was a good man, and that was obvious even through his touch.

“Pansy! Look who’s here!” Draco bellowed, clomping his absurdly large self over to take her hand. Before she could protest, she let out a gasp.

“Blaise?” Pansy asked.

“Pansy…” the boy, no, man, replied. He pulled her into a tight hug. “I missed you.”

“Where have you been?” she asked. “I’ve owled you so many times, you dick. You’re the only person I wrote, and the only one who didn’t reply.”

“I was… busy.”

“Why are you here?” Pansy gasped, following his eyesight. “Ron bloody Weasley? You’re sick.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants, even temperamental, heroic redheads,” Blaise replied, shoulders relaxed after Pansy’s non-acceptance acceptance of his love interest.

“Hey, Parkinson,” Ron muttered as he walked up, looking like a forlorn giant as he moseyed on over.

“Not my name, dick,” Pansy spat back, alcohol fueling her baser instincts which included hissing at the obvious enemy.

“Moody, whatever,” Ron replied, shrugging his shoulders. “There’s only so much a man can remember.”

“Pray I’m drunk enough not to inform my da of that,” Pansy warned. “Go kiss your boyfriend and blow Potter up in a way Voldemort couldn’t.”

“You’re evil,” Ron observed, shaking his head, but following Pansy’s instructions and confidently grabbing Blaise’s hand.

“I won’t lie and say I understand that at all,” Neville murmured, far closer to Pansy than she’d realize. Constant vigilance went out the window when Neville was involved, it seemed.

“Stupid and thrifty, evilly sharp and indulgent… opposites attract, apparently,” Pansy said with a small smile, boldly leaning back against Neville. The surprisingly suave Gryffindor, to his credit, wrapped a protective arm around her hip.

“Just wait…” Neville directed. Pansy watched as the two men kissed, a sharp jab to a dopey Harry Potter’s side from his girlfriend causing him to view the kiss with a shriek.

“Aw, mate!” Harry whined. “Really?”

“What he means is,” Draco started loudly, a warning look at Harry. “We look like such dicks! You could’ve at least corrected our gender when we asked who you were seeing.”

Blaise just raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the point, Drake?”

“There is no point,” Hermione chimed in, extremely comfortable and tipsy from where she lounged on her husband’s lap. “We love Ron no matter what. Boy, girl, elf, giant, as long as they’re consenting, we love whoever you love!”

“Say love again,” Theo muttered, accepting Luna’s sympathetic pat. Poor Slytherins, all so emotionally constipated, the Ravenclaw thought with pity.

“Love! There’s so much love all around… cheers to love and house elves and children!” Hermione praised.

“The cheeriness is making me sick,” Pansy muttered honestly. “It really is like an episode of Full House.”

“Now I really need to know what this show is,” Neville replied with a curious smile.

Pansy looked around the room quickly, honed skills from war never truly leaving her.

“Take me to the movie room again and I’ll show you. You’re in luck, Nickelodeon runs episodes overnight,” Pansy replied, hesitantly accepting the man’s much larger hand. Who was she and what had she done with the hesitant, unfeeling Pansy Parkinson of before?

Wherever the old, scared Pansy was, this new version of her just prayed she never came back.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Up next, we flash forward to the Battle of Hogwarts. Reminder that this isn't canon compliant! Love it or leave it.
> 
> Connect with me on tumblr at https://thiscitychickk.tumblr.com/


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